


First Times

by 2W_NikiAngel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And all the 'firsts' you can imagine, As always in my fanfictions, Bisexual Grantaire, Demisexual Enjolras, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Joly and Bossuet are good friends, M/M, Pining Grantaire, Strangers to Lovers, and the others too - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: All the ‘first times’ a person has experienced in high school is mostly remembered. First group of friends, first quarrel with parents, first night drunk, first fight, first concert, first pet, first kiss, first love, first time having sex.Grantaire was not such a person. Whether it was because of his alcoholism or his cynicism, nothing related to  ‘first times’ had ever fascinated him. He abandoned the memories of these highlights of his life. He had no need to share anything with anyone and to  remember every detail of everything he had experienced.But none of this was true if he thought of Enjolras.[Český originální text/Czech original]





	First Times

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fanfiction in July, then translated it into English and was waiting for a correction. Unfortunately, my betareader is busy enough and in the end of month we agreed to find another betareader for my longer fanfictions. However, there was no one in the fandom who would help me with this 60 page beauty, so I had no choice but to fix the English translation by myself. Since I'm still not so sure in written English, I been hesitating for pretty long to publish the story. After almost three months, I thought it would be a pity if I had this story tucked in a file somewhere, and so today, perhaps with a little pride, I publish both version of this fanfic - in translation and czech original.
> 
> So, well, that means I'm still looking for beta-reader(s). If someone want to help me with my fanfiction and want to be the first who know about my works, write me a message on my tumblr (at the end notes)! Thank! 
> 
> Special thank to my busy beta-reader Saturn for helping me with 3 first parts of the story. Thank you so much!
> 
> I hope at least someone likes it. Thank you in advance for any reactions and comments!

**0.**

All the ‘first times’ a person has experienced in high school is mostly remembered. First group of friends, first quarrel with parents, first night drunk, first fight, first concert, first pet, first kiss, first love, first time having sex.

Grantaire was not such a person. Whether it was because of his alcoholism or his cynicism, nothing related to ‘first times’ had ever fascinated him. He abandoned the memories of these highlights of his life. He had no need to share anything with anyone and to remember every detail of everything he had experienced.

But none of this was true if he thought of Enjolras.

**1.**

Five years ago, Grantaire was a completely different person. Although he was known for his troublesome drinking habits a lot, it was worse in his earlier days of life. He couldn’t specifically remember what he had done in the past - his memories were just one big stain,  and he stopped taking care of his appearance . Joly and Bossuet had been helping him for two years before he was able to emotionally connect with anybody else. During that time, he had come a long way - he found a job, an apartment, and even returned to school. He wasn't the best worker, student, and probably even a friend, but he was starting to live again. Although he did not get rid of the alcohol demon, as he himself liked to call it, he was still able to tell when he had enough and would like to put his glass away.

At that time, Bossuet introduced him to the Friends of the ABC. Grantaire showed no interest in a revolutionary group dealing with freedom, justice and, as Joly dreamily said, fraternity. Instead, he just liked to mock the group. Once, however, after one meeting, Bossuet forgot his wallet at the Musain café, where the group met. Grantaire offered to go with him and get a beer.

That was the day when Grantaire first saw Enjolras. He was wearing black boots, black trousers, a blue sweatshirt, a golden watch around his right wrist, two yellow bracelets on his left one, two black rings on his fingers. His skin was white, his cheeks a little pink; his hair was brilliant, blond, thick and wild. His facial expression was cold but his eyes were laughing and showing off their unruly blue hue. He was sitting next to a lamp whose illumination made a halo above his head. When he saw Bossuet, he smiled, holding his ragged, leather wallet.

“Your friend?” 

Grantaire remained nearby the café’s door.

“Yes, that's Grantaire.” 

Enjolras stood up, and he and Bossuet walked up to him. 

“Grantaire, this is Enjolras, our leader.”

“I don't like the word,” Enjolras protested, slightly shaking his head but still smiling. “I’m just somebody who likes to organize meetings, speak a lot and sometimes forget that he’s not a reincarnation of Jesus who will save the whole planet.” He laughed, reaching his hand out to Grantaire. “I'm Enjolras.”

Grantaire was about to introduce himself, but instead, he said: “For the fucking sake of every God above, Lesgle, you didn’t tell me that you know his majesty Apollo.”

**2.**

A while after the creation of their wonderful acquaintanceship, Enjolras gave him the first of many condemned looks.

**3.**

Grantaire didn’t plan to meet all of the Friends of the ABC. Certainly not after what he said to one of the main founders. However, when Joly messaged him two days later and invited him to one of their gatherings at Musain because he brought wonderful wine from Bohemia Moravia, he didn’t refuse. He didn't bother to explain to himself why, as he was leaving his apartment, he looked at his reflection in the glass of the main door and went back to change his entire outfit. Or why his heart was pounding. Or why, instead of waiting for the bus, he hurriedly walked all the way to Musain.

“You will soon look like Bossuet,” said Joly with a grumpy face, and passed him a glass with red wine. When Grantaire sat down, Joly started up: “If you’ll wear stupid beanies all the time, you will lose all of your hair. No, no, Bossuet, I know,  _ we all know _ that it’s because of your genes and your bad luck. But look at him! His hair is beautiful and thick, and he does so many terrible things to it!”

“I forget to wash my hair.”

“And that’s even worse!”

“I wear the beanies all the time, why are you getting upset about it right now?”

Joly sighed loudly and hide his face in his palms. “I fucked up my surgery exam.”

“Okay, I will remember that. I don’t want you to ever be my doctor.”

“You aren’t helping!”

‘I’m just being honest!”

“I shouldn’t have told you about the wine, you don’t deserve it.”

“You told me because you love me.” Grantaire blinked innocently and Joly let the frown drop from his face. 

He sighed again and drank from his glass. He signaled to Bossuet that he wanted a refill and softly said, "I love you, so appreciate it and stop aggravating me."

“Sorry,” said Grantaire and pursed his lips a little.

Joly laughed at this. 

Bossuet put his hand on his boyfriend’s arm and cleared his throat. 

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Grantaire laughed. “I’m looking for someone else. Not that you’re bad. You’re handsome, witty, funny and thanks to one drunk night at my place, I know that you’re a wonderful kisser; but you’re not my type. So, calm down, Lesgle, he’s all yours.” 

Grantaire finished his second glass and grunted in bliss. He didn’t taste such good wine in a while. He looked at his two best friends then at the wine bottle, as if to ask to have another glass. Bossuet exchanged looks with Joly and simply nodded.

When Grantaire finished half of his second glass, Enjolras entered the room with his arms full of papers. Grantaire glanced at him. He didn’t know if it was because of the influence of the wine or the room’s bad lighting but Enjolras looked more angelic than last time. Dark blue jeans, a white, thin blouse with two buttons undone. His hair was tamed this time, skin more white and his eyes were hidden behind thick black-framed glasses. He put papers on a table where laid some opened but abandoned books. He grabbed some of them and walked over to where Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire were sitting. When Enjolras finally looked up from the papers to focus on his two friends, he saw Grantaire. At first he frowned, as if asking himself what he was doing there, but then smiled; Grantaire instantly knew that he was faking it.

“Good evening,” Enjolras greeted the three men at table and handed the two of his friends the papers. “Can you look at them, please?”

“Of course, Enjolras,” replied Joly and started to read. Bossuet just hummed and layed papers before him. 

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who started pouring himself another glass.

“Have you come to listen our speeches?”

“Oh god, don’t talk to me like I’m some old man you want to recruit,” said Grantaire, startled, and drank the wine in his glass in one shot. Bossuet gasped. “Sorry, Lesgle.I know, you shouldn’t drink wine all at once - it’s barbaric. But I really had to. This man, this Apollo, just intended to sound like we are fifteen years apart and like I have soul in my body.  How could he afford it ?” 

Grantaire shook his head and finally looked at Enjolras, whose cheeks were tinted pink. “Wait, wait, wait, are you blushing? Apollo is blushing!” He laughed and he slammed his open fist to table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable, but I don’t know, I may look like a fat, stinky man in his forties, but I’m not. I swear! My look today is called ‘be hipster’ or ‘be cool’, which you probably cannot relate to because I'm the kind of scum you are trying to save with these people. So I totally understand you. But I swear, I'm just a badly neglected guy who hasn't even been through a quarter of a century.” He slammed his chest hard. “ To my soul, Apollo .”

Enjolras was looking at him, the redness of his face becoming more and more evident. Joly stopped reading and stared at his friend with a panicked look in eyes. Somewhere in the middle of Grantaire’s monologue, Bossuet had opened his mouth.

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras said coldly. “But I don't act very empathetic and friendly to people who aren't my close friends. It's called being well-behaved .” With that, he turned to his two friends and slightly smiled at them. The strain in his voice proved that he was still upset because of Grantaire’s words when he told Joly and Bossuet: “We'll all go through it on Friday but if you have any  comments , I'll welcome them. Combeferre is pretty busy right now, and Feuilly will be gone for a month, so I need someone to motivate me a bit.”

“So these two are third and fourth on your ‘favorite friends’ list?” Grantaire laughed.

Enjolras didn't even look at him, but the latter could see his teeth clench. He sighed and gulped. 

“Enjoy the evening,” he said quietly, and went to his desk.

“Of course, it would be better with Apollo!”

Enjolras did not react to this; he packed all his belongings and left the café.

Grantaire couldn't understand why his stomach ached and his sweat glazed his forehead. Only when Bossuet asked him if he wanted to refill his glass, did he realize that the wine was bitter in his mouth. He excused himself and went to the toilet-room. He spat the wine into the sink and washed his face with cold water. For a couple of long minutes, he wondered what had suddenly happened to him to be so sick. And then his brain began to process stomach pressure, and he realized it was the first rejection. The Sun God’s first rejection.

When he returned to the table, his heart pounded for a good hour.

**4.**

Without even planning it, Grantaire slowly began to like all the members of the Friends of the ABC. It actually started innocently. Grantaire only lived less than three streets away from Musain, so whenever Joly and Bossuet were present at some of their meetings, they messaged Grantaire to come and see them after they ended. Grantaire always stayed to drink only one bottle of wine, ate a maximum of three pieces of sweet cake and smoked only five cigarettes. Joly always praised him for this, and Bossuet patted his shoulder proudly and said: “You're awesome.”

One evening, after a month of Grantaire's regular appearances in the café every Wednesday, Bahorel had come to their usual table and heatedly discussed with Bossuet some action video game that Joly dubbed as ‘anatomically inaccurate’ and ‘very cruel’ _ . _ Exactly what the two gamers loved. 

‘You're Grantaire, aren't you?” Bahorel asked as he sat down. 

Grantaire just reached out to him, and the older of them grinned and shook their hands. 

“I'm Bahorel. Bossuet told me you boxed quite a bit before? ”

“Yeah, that was in my early years,” Grantaire laughed and lit a cigarette while the waitress brought him his favorite honey dessert. “I'm out of shape.” He tapped his hand on his stomach that was hiding under a oversized black sweater. “For a pretty long time now.”

Bahorel laughed at the man’s self-reflection. ”You know, I’m looking for a good sparring partner. But these idiots don't want to go with me. They're too lazy for that.”

And so, Grantaire became friends with Bahorel. Since then, it was quite normal for Grantaire to appear whenever Enjolras, Courfeyrac, or Combeferre made a closing speech and suggested topics for the next meeting. He always sat down with Joly and Bossuet, but he greeted Bahorel, who always smiled brightly at him.

A month later, Bahorel sat down with Grantaire, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and softly said, “It won't work tonight, bro.” He frowned. “I need to look good without the awesome bruises you always give me for some time.”

“But I like to box with you,” Grantaire replied. “What's happening?”

“He is ‘what’s happening’,” Bahorel told him, pointing to another of the member of Friends of the ABC. 

Grantaire smiled to himself. Bahorel had gestured towards the youngest member of their group. He was tall, very thin and lively, with mercury-colored hair and a freckled nose. His eyes were dark green, he dressed very eccentrically, and although he had the appearance of a fallen angel, his beliefs and attitudes were very masculine and militant. Jehan, just like the way his nickname sounded, had something ethereal to him. After a month in the gym with Bahorel, Grantaire knew very well that this was exactly his type. 

“I make it, bro.”

“Congratulations!” Joly laughed from beside them and clapped his hands. Grantaire just rolled his eyes and Bahorel snorted. “My God, c’mon! I love romance. And I know how long you wanted Jehan to notice you! And now it’s finally happened!”

“Yeah, you are right,” Bahorel said dreamily as Jehan finally became aware of their glances. He smiled at them, tucked his restless hair behind his ear and walked to their table. 

He calmly greeted them and stroked Bahorel's shoulder. “Can we⎼”

“Of course!” Impatient, Bahorel almost fell from his chair.

As he ran off to retrieve their coats, Jehan looked at Grantaire and smiled pleasantly at him. “You're the friend Bahorel goes to boxing with, aren't you? Grantaire?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, sipping his wine. He signaled the younger man to approach him. Jehan leaned over and Grantaire whispered softly in his ear: “I hid condoms in his right pocket. Have fun.” 

Jehan flushed all over, and Bahorel, who had finally returned to the table with their coats, smacked Grantaire on his head.

No one doubted that Jehan and Bahorel’s relationship wouldn’t work. Although neither of them had officially announced anything, it was evident in their fleeting touches and longing stares. Grantaire usually saw Jehan after boxing practice. On most days, Jehan picked Bahorel up from the gym and exchanged a few words with Grantaire.

These encounters only made Grantaire believed even more than before that he was getting into something called a social group for the first time. He didn't remember ever having one in his life. He had two couples around him, four wonderful men who joked with him, had fun and were really interested in him.

It wasn't long before Grantaire slowly came into the everyones space. He and Feuilly once had a good time at the bar when they both went for tequila and instead of a quick greeting, they spent four hours talking over a glass of wine only about the history of Italy, Hungary, Poland and Austria. He and Courfeyrac once had a sex conversation outside the café where they smoked together. Marius got into his friendly circuit by accident, but unlike the others, they skipped embarrassing introductions and moments of silence. He was an easy target that everyone made fun of, so that Grantaire found it perfectly normal to be friends with him. He doesn’t have so much in common with Combeferre, but they always greeted each other, spoke a few words, and once when Grantaire waited for Joly to return to the café after medical practice, Combeferre talked with him for a long time about ancient Roman and Greek myths.

He could call everyone his friends, whether he spent hours on the phone with them, played dominoes together, chatted only in the Musain café or in the nicotine haze on colder summer nights.

There was only one person he couldn't call as his friend. For Grantaire, Enjolras was still a familiar, dull smell he had seen every time they passed the door, and a person he could only say hello and goodbye to. It has been six months since he went to Musain not only for a few drinks with his friends in the evening, but also to listen to their group's debates. He did not comment on them, sat obediently in the corner, watched as there were sparks burning among the discussing people who were trying to ignite the fire of change, and bit his tongue so he wouldn't say anything out of place. “I don't believe in anything you're fighting for,” he once told Combeferre and Feuilly as they played cards in the evening. “But that doesn't mean I'm going to act like a asshole and disturb you. If you ask me, sure. I will answer that you are a bunch of idiots, who do not understand what life is, have a head in the clouds and may have milk running down their chins; and I can say that because I'm one of the oldest here!” He slammed the card on the deck and Feuilly chuckled when he found out he had lost. Combeferre laughed and stroked his friend's back. “Until then, I will not spoil your naive dreams. It's nice that someone can still believe in the future.” With that, he put the last card on the deck and raised his hands. “I won!” Combeferre cursed silently.

He meant it. Still, he regretted the fact that the blond hadn't really paid attention to him. He looked at him occasionally, smiled, but immediately lowered his eyes and focused on someone else. Even Marius was welcomed in Enjolras' presence, arguing hotly over the rule of Napaleon Bonaparte. Every time he saw him, Grantaire felt pressure on his chest. He had no idea why and doesn’t tried to explain why to himself. But whenever he saw someone else in Enjolras's presence and they started talking, handing over papers, touching their fingers, or even laughing, Grantaire felt stung around his heart and his stomach tightened.

“What's the matter, buddy?” Joly asked once, noticing Grantaire's twisted smile.

“I don't like the taste,” he lied, putting the wine aside. It was sweet and red. Exactly what he loved. However, he doesn’t like anything today. He felt weird from the morning. Not physically, but mentally. He wasn't in a good mood, everything seemed to be shrouded in the fog, and when he and Joly had meeting at the café again, he had an irresistible desire to send him message that he have too much work today and can’t come. Apathy slowly began to eat him. He hated that feeling. “Maybe because what Apollo says.”

“It's  _ Enjolras _ , Grantaire,” Joly said, frowning a little. “I know you two would probably never meet under normal conditions, but you don't have to give him some awkward nicknames right away.”

“How can you say that?” Grantaire gasped and theatrically put his hand on his chest. “That's a pretty insulting, Doctor. Isn't Apollo one of your protectors too? What? Sir? Hello? Aren't you swearing an oath on his scepter with his words? Isn't the Hippocratic oath telling you anything?”

Joly stuck his tongue at his friend. “I'm not a doctor yet.”

“Worse! If he heard you now, no more sun, no health, nothing. He will let you  _ suffer _ .”

“I still have Asclepius, Higiein and Panakin in reserve.”

“Have you ever seen Apollo, bro? He will seduces them, fucks them, and the whole Olympus will not give a whole fuck about you.”

“Do I interrupt you, gentlemen?” Joly and Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was standing at one of the tables in the middle of the room, holding several papers, glasses on his nose, and frowning a little. Only now they noticed that everyone was looking at them.

“I guess we were talking more loud than we thought,” said Joly with a blush on his face. “Maybe because of the wine. We didn't want to disturb. Sorry.”

“Nothing happened.” Grantaire leaned his hands on the back of his chair and focused his gaze on Enjolras. He stabbed him with his cold gaze. Grantaire swallowed dry. It was the longest stare they had for the whole time they had met.

“Probably,” Enjolras said in a cold voice, focusing on his papers. “Like I said—”

“You don't like if someone don't listen to your rambling, right?”

“Grantaire,” Joly whispered.

“No, like, I don't want to start something here. But I've been here long enough, damn, I've been here since five and it’s fucking half past nine. And you're still talking.” Enjolras looked at him again. Grantaire saw his jaw squeeze. “You probably like to hear yourself a lot, don't you?”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre protested silently, only shaking his head.

“It's all right, Combeferre,” Enjolras said, keeping his eyes on Grantaire. “I'm speaking because I have enough knowledge and opinions about the topics we're talking about. I speak the most, but always on the subject, to encourage discussion, and at least raise the spirit of those who do not want to express their opinions publicly. I understand that for someone like you, who do not listen to me, this may seems like a  _ rambling _ . Sorry. But I’ll not stop. I’m just sorry that you don't have time to hear my opinion, share it or even add something on it.” Enjolras took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I'm sorry if you're bored, but you know what we're doing here and what we're trying to do. With that, we come to this café, these days and this hour. You know it. If you mind, you can leave at any time. Nothing prevents you. Neither me nor the others, nor the café itself. There are plenty of them in Paris, and surely they have as good services as here.” With that, Enjolras looked at his papers again and tried to start the conversation where he had left off.

“Well, I'd rather fix that.”

“Pardon?”

“Did you say anything about your opinion here? Or that you have an opinion and you want to share it and add something or some other crap?” Grantaire just snorted. “I'd rather fix it. Or better — completely erased it. I don't think you have a good opinion about it.”

Enjolras removed his glasses from his nose, placed them on the table with his papers, and rounded his lips with his tongue, laughed softly. He bit his lower lip and looked at Grantaire. He could feel the heat on his cheeks. He watched Enjolras's mouth turns red. “All right,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms. “Share your opinion. The floor is yours.”

Suddenly everyone was looking at Grantaire, who just tapped his foot and stood up quickly. “All right,” Grantaire said, adjusting his sweater, in which was suddenly getting hot. “I think all this, the  _ things _ you are trying to change here, is kind of a utopia. All right, not a little. Completely utopia. I don't know how you want to do that by changing the government with just some protests? Isn't that a little oldschool? Like banners, pamphlets, some shouts, posters and internet discussions and pages about how this country is corrupt? Everyone knows it is. Everybody knows this president is completely fucked.” Jehan gasped slightly, and Courfeyrac focused his eyes on Enjolras. “You won't change anything. None of us. It's ... just impossible. The president has protection like a freaking God. Whether from the police or your parliament. He has the support of the whole fucking European Union, so it never happens to be dismissed by a few school boys.”

“France has a big word in Union,” Enjolras protested. Before he could say anything else, Grantaire laughed deeply.

“Sure, why shouldn't? It is only a modern monarchy. Can't you see it? Germany and France are trying to do something for which our ancestors died. They were dying to have the freedom, the constitution, the law, and all the bullshit you sweep in here. But in fact, they are only trying to make the domination of the two powers and have other people under them. They don’t give a fuck what their people are going to do. And no, just because you go on the street with a bunch of people from a café, you can't really save it or change it. He won't step back. He won't go away. They will always stand behind him.”

“I don't think you're right,” Enjolras said and a blue vein popped up on his neck. It jumped lightly. Obviously his heart was pounding. Grantaire was fascinated by it.

“Of course, I understand. I'm just a guy who drinks and eats sweet here. I'm not good enough for you to greet me, let alone hear my opinion.”

It was a personal attack that Enjolras didn’t expect. Grantaire himself was startled after he said that. “Well, that's enough,” Feuilly said firmly, moving to Enjolras side. “Grantaire, do what you want, I'm taking this boy to the bar now to discuss it, and we're going to stop today. We are all tired.” He smiled at everyone, took Enjolras around his shoulders and began to push him to the bar. Enjolras said something quietly, frowning and seeming to argue. But Feuilly just stroked his shoulders and ordered him a drink.

Suddenly Joly stood beside Grantaire and said quietly. “Going home?”

“You couldn't have recommended anything better now.” Grantaire dressed quickly, disappearing from the door with Joly. His heart pounded and his mouth was parched. He needed to smoke. As soon as he pulled a cigarette from his pack and put his cork in his mouth, Joly turned to him and said softly: “You know, you might not know, but Enjolras was quite upset. If Feuilly didn't stop him, you'd probably start arguing. Odd. Normally he doesn't behave like this and tries to be pretty nice. Even though he looks stern, he's actually a good man.” Grantaire stopped and blinked a few times. It was a moment when he realized that maybe the whole time there was no mistake in Enjolras. But in him. He was telling lewd jokes, arguing, constantly shouting, being out of place and indiscriminate. “Strange,” Joly repeated, turning his back on his friend. “You're the first person he's treating like that.”

**5.**

Grantaire wondered for a good three hours if he want to go to the next meeting of the revolutionary group. But as he knew Joly, if he excuse himself for  _ being sick _ , he would run to him, give him some pills, start to care about what he ate (nothing), drank (3 bottles of red wine in the evening and a liter of hot lemon water in the morning that caused him to vomit), the last time he had been in contact with a person who was in an exotic landscape, and he would measure his pulse and watch his pupils every half an hour. Jehan would bake some sweet cakes that would just root his teeth, and Bossuet, with his eternal disaster luck, would get some real flu and then blame him for a good month.

No. He didn't want that. It was weak to hide. He and Enjolras were mature enough to look into each other's eyes without arguing like pubescent schoolgirls after they had little fight.

Grantaire arrived just before the start of Combeferre's opening speech on agricultural problems in Provance. Before he could wonder why Enjolras wasn't the first to speak today, he felt a touch on his arm that made him turn around. “Enjolras?”

“Grantaire.” He pulled his hand back to his body and sighed. “Can I talk to you?” Grantaire just nodded. “I'd like to talk about yesterday.”

“Oh, sure, Apollo. So tell me, I don't fit here, do I? My cynicism is too big for you. I'm not surprised. Sometimes I can't swallow it myself. I have a lot to do to not throw up. Although I did it just this morning. You should have seen,” he laughed at his own memory and cleared his throat quickly when he noticed Enjolras's slightly disgusted look. “Yeah, sorry, I am just like that. My mouth is broken, I will say everything before I think it through. I think Bahorel once said I’m saying only shits, but I was taking it a bit of an insult, because I don't think I was talking that bad. I'm pretty smart actually. Though, that would probably make my school results look a little better. You know I—”

“I don't think so either,” Enjolras stopped his gibberish.

Only now has Grantaire noticed that Enjolras's shoulders are hanging freely and he’s tapping his right foot lightly. “Sorry?”

“I don't think you're talking s… _ stupid _ things. You're smart. I can see it in you.” Grantaire felt his blood pouring into his face. “I just think you're using your clever in a different way than I'm comfortable with. You know that too. We are different. But sometimes... You really think I don’t hear what you're saying? I do. And some of the comments aren't bad. They even seem to be most useful sometimes.” Enjolras suddenly chuckled. “And then you spoil it with some stupid opinion.”

“Yeah, I’m talking shits,” Grantaire repeated in a low voice.

“I don't think so,” Enjolras repeated this time. “I just wanted to know if everything is fine between us.”

“I can't do anything about not having the same view of our political situation like you. Not really, Apollo. Don't think so much about me again. I only talk about politics from boredom. Nothing more in it—”

“I'm talking about what you said. How do you feel. That, maybe, I am ignoring you,” Enjolras interrupted again. They hadn't known each other even for a whole year, but he knew that if Grantaire started his monologue, he was unstoppable. If he wanted to speak, he had to jump into his speech. “I'm sorry if it affected you so much. I'm just used to the fact that people often leave us after a month or two. I didn't realize that you started to show up more, I admit it, but I was still not sure if it meant that you really belonged to us or you’re just bored and want to fill your free time.”

“Well, I don't know either,” Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras just nodded. “But that doesn't mean I think something bad about you. I still think you're a really good speaker, and although I don't really support the things you're doing here, I'm not saying you're bad people. ”

“That's good.”

“So ... Like, are were friends?”

“After a while we will be. If we find a way how to talk.” With that, Enjolras went to the table where Jehan and Courfeyrac sat. Grantaire watched his figure for a while before Bossuet called him to help him out of the chair on which he had accidentally stuck his jacket and tore it all apart.

**6.**

Since then, Grantaire has begun to notice all the people who appeared in the café and stayed for meeting. Enjolras was right. He saw boys, adult men, and old men who were eager to listen to words about freedom, prosperity, people's upliftment, and changes in their lives. But none of them stayed long. 

Leaves began to fall from the branches, the temperature dropping, they all started to wear their sweaters. It was a time when their group was most successful in reaching out to new, potential fighters, as Jehan liked to call them. When Grantaire entered the café one autumn evening, Enjolras stood with his arms folded in front of a bunch of three young boys who were discussing with him quietly. 

“Something wrong?” Grantaire asked as he sat down with Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Bahorel two tables away from Enjolras with the unknown men.

“How did you know?” Courfeyrac asked with a smile. Grantaire didn't want to admit it, but he'd known when Enjolras was annoyed or tried to convince him of something he didn't believe in, He always puff his chest, tilted his head to the side, and occasionally tapped the heel of his right foot to the ground. He swallowed dry. He sat next to Bahorel and took a glass of red wine from him.

“They're talking about Robespierre,” Combeferre said, focusing on the group in front of them. “These boys are history students. They are taught by Professor Leblin, whom I never heard before, but apparently he is very respected and students see him as an idol. Everything he says is holy to them.”

“Guess what time the professor doesn't like?”

“And what historically significant figures?”

Grantaire just nodded. Everyone knew that Enjolras knew the history of their country as if he had lived though all the time. He still relied on impotence of the Great French Revolution. He took values from that time and tried to modernize them and build on the same foundation. For him, Robespierre, Saint-Just, and Couthon were the historical figures he looked up to.

“I don't understand how you can defend him,” one of them said loud enough to be heard by the entire café. All the Friends of the ABC looked at Enjolras. He was frowning a little, and a blue vein on his neck was beating faster than normal. “He was a murderer. Tyrant! He never done anything good for his country. He went crazy!”

Enjolras was already trying to say something when Franta said from table: “ _ We will be betrayed and therefore defeated, or we will win, and the victorious general will become the new enemy of the people _ .” Grantaire drank his glass and stared at his friends at the table, “Maybe that's why. He was an enemy of the people because he won. He won so that others could live.”

“That’s not a tru—“

“Your professor probably likes Collot d'Herboise or Boissy d'Anglas. It doesn't matter if he swing more to left or right. All he has to do is to stir up a bit of excitement in you, and you feel that if you grind the shit he puts on your head, you will be a little smarter. But you won't. You're just the sheep who repeat his words.”

“I beg your pardon!” The highest of them stood up and pointed at Grantaire with his finger. “Do you agree with what he did? Thanks to him, people get murdered. Just for a different opinion than he had!”

Grantaire stood up, put his hand on his heart, and said with a solemn voice, “What young, dull heads have come together today. What do you think? Thanks to him, the foundations of democracy began. We build on what he built. And even though he was a controversial figure and no one could pronounce his name with 100% pride and courage in his voice, even the fiercest of the prudent must accept what he done. His head could not be beheaded only because of the speeches he had. His death was a blessing especially for other revolutionaries, fundamentalists and other fighters who tried to make the republic. And today we stand here. Even if you don't like it, you should thank him.”

One of the boys opened his mouth, the other frowned more, and the third decided to step in. “Fuck this.” He took his coat with the other boys and left the café as quickly as possible.

Grantaire almost sat down when he heard, “Grantaire?” He looked at Enjolras, who was smiling slightly at him. “Thank you.” Enjolras turned to his friends and began their program. Grantaire realized after five minutes that he hadn't sat down and was still looking at the blond man.

**7.**

“That’s horrible!” Jehan cried, putting his head in his hands. Bahorel just laughed and stroked his back.

“You're going to hell for this,” Joly said with disgusted face.

“I think we are just having a great time," Bossuet protested, smoking his last cigarette.

“What did I miss?” Grantaire asked as soon as he reached the table, shaking a few snowflakes from his head. Winter came today, a month earlier. “I will certainly like it by Jehan's expression.” Jehan's entire red cheeks were hidden behind his hands, he shook his head, still muttering.

“We're just saying jokes.”

“But what kind of!” Joly protested, looking at his friends in awe. “It's disgusting!”

“Oh, I got it!” Grantaire clapped and laughed. “Are you competing again, who will tell the most offensive joke?”

“Of course!” Cried Bossuet and Bahorel together.

Grantaire sat at the head of the table and looked at Joly. “You don’t play with them. I understand why Jehan, but you?”

“What's with me?”

“You're a doctor! Sure, Joly, okay,  _ future doctor _ . This is a job where you can use black humor to one hundred percent. And don't try tell me that something like this is  _ unethical _ and  _ nasty _ . I still want to throw up ať the memory of your speech from about the guy at the autopsy.”

“Do I even want to know?” Jehan asked in disgust.

“Well, medical practice in third year," Joly said, waving his hand. “We were the last group of the day, and we could see that the pathologist had pretty rough day. We walked inside the autopsy room and had a body ready. You know, before you die, you can agree that your body can be used for study purposes. And I don't really know if the guy did it on purpose, or I don't know, but when the pathologist cut his stomach, suddenly it all started to roll out and just—”

“Holly Molly in the sky, stop!” Jehan cried, putting his head in his hands again.

“Wonderful,” Grantaire laughed and winked at him. “As a doctor, you must have it in your blood. Come on! Do it! Disgust me. Tell me the worst you can.”

“Jesus,” Joly rolled his eyes. “Well, I don't know. Maybe… Do you know what is better than winning the Paralympics?”

“Having feet,” Bahorel replied immediately. “That's old. Just like - having se se for dark humor is like having legs.”

“Someone has them and some don't,” Bossuet said.

“Jehan, you must know something, too.”

“No, not really,” Jehan said, looking at Grantaire. “I like fun. But this goes beyond me. I can't laugh at such things. It's terrible.”

“But that's what dark humor is all about,” Grantaire replied, telling the waitress that he wanted hot chocolate. Today he wanted to get a sugar shock. “You need to look at the worst in your life with humor. Do you know how poor a wheelchair would feel if someone hadn't told him at least once in a lifetime —  _ buddy, how about go for a walk _ ?” Jehan grunted again, and Bahorel began to massaging his head. 

“Okay, how about a little contest?”

“Grantaire, you see gambling in everything.”

“Be happy for it. If I wasn't there you would listen about Jehans talking about puppies and stuffed animals. Sorry, but you must admit that it's true." They all grunted in agreement, remembering Jehan had been talking for two months now about wanting a puppy and showing them pictures of his favorite breeds. Jehan apologized silently. “So the one who says the best worst joke doesn't have to pay their spending.”

“Okay!”

“Joly and I will judge you,” Jehan said immediately, pointing to the others. “But you have only two attempts, because we probably both can't bear more.”

“Good,” Bahorel said, kicking one shot. “I'll start. So — the horoscope for tomorrow: Tomorrow, everyone will only praise you, carry you on their hands, and give you a flowers. Yeah, funeral is like that.”

“Weak,” Grantaire protested, and Joly said: “Pretty sad.”

“Okay, then — Children went down the minefield and scattered their hands—”

“Some thirty meters far,” Grantaire said, sighing. “Did you get it from a retirement book? I expected more from you, bro.”

“This monster,” Bahorel said, wrapping his arms around Jehan's shoulders. “He ruins me completely. He made me a better man.” Jehan just laughed and gave his lover a quick kiss on cheek.

“All right, me now,” Bossuet said. “It has four legs and one hand. What is it? Pitbull in the kid playground!”

“Enough! Nothing more about children.” Jehan cried.

“And I have one good about a children's bus,” Grantaire protested.

“No, wait, wait, I have better,” Bossuet said immediately, laughing beforehand. “My teacher didn't want to believe I had 36 pets at home. So I showed her a picture of the aquarium. Well, she could shit herself about how I got those puppies there.”

“I'm dating a monster,” said Joly with wide-eyed look. He looked at Bahorel and Grantaire, who, together with Bossuet, began to laugh. “And I even talk to monsters.”

“All right, we won't torture them anymore,” Grantaire said immediately. He stood up, adjusted his sweatshirt, and gazed at his friends, he said, “It will not involve children or animals.” Jehan looked pleased. “I've have pretty good one about rape, but there are some things you can’t joke about, like, never.” This time it was Joly who nodded his thanks. “Okay.” Grantaire rubbed his fingers and began, “Mom, tomorrow we have a geography exam. Can you try me? - Of course, honey. What is the capital of Germany? - Berlin. - What is the capital of France? - Berlin. - And what is the capital of Great Britain? - Berlin. - You learned it very well, Adolf.”

There was a light laugh. The guys at the table frowned a little, and Bossuet just snorted. Grantaire had to turn around to see who laughed. Enjolras was sitting two tables away, carrying a book in his hand, unfinished tea on the table, and eating his strawberry pie. He looked at his friends, quickly swallowed a bite of cake and coughed a little. “Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a sip of his tea. “I just heard you and this ... amused me a lot.”

“That wasn't dark humor,” Bahorel protested.

“Historically, it was,” Joly said, and he and Jehan looked at each other. “Neither of you is winning because you are all terrible. Have fun like that. How can I like you after this?”

“I found it funny,” said Enjolras. Grantaire kept his eyes on him. “Especially the one from Grantaire. I just like politics and history. Do you know there's only few jokes about this?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire and said quietly “You won for me. Just tell me what you ordered, I'll pay for you.”

That night, Grantaire made twenty political jokes at home just for case Enjolras will want some fun. 

**8.**

Grantaire stood on the table, holding mistletoe in his hands, adjusting his red, plush nose on his nose. Jehan was holding his hips, making sure his friend won't fall. “You'll have to put it a little higher, otherwise Combeferre will bump his head into it. Good,” Jehan said immediately, helping Grantaire down from the table.

Grantaire adjusted his reindeer antler headband and looked around the room. Together with Jehan, they hung lights and mistletoes everywhere; Marius was baking his famous muffins in the kitchen, and Bahorel and Bossuet ate them with praise comments; Joly sat behind the piano playing snippets of various Christmas songs; Courfeyrac lined up gift boxes under a small tree in the corner of the room. It smelled wonderfully everywhere, of candies and hot chocolate. They were all wearing t-shirts with funny, Christmas inscriptions, and every moment someone laughed across the room.

When the clock struck eight in the evening, the door opened and the last guests entered the room. Feuilly was laughing in the doorway, shaking his head. “I told you a hundred times that you don't have to do it for me!” But there were tears in his eyes. He immediately turned to Enjolras, who entered the room immediately after him and hugged him heavily. He whispered something to him so that only a blonde could hear it, and once they pulled away, Enjolras just nodded. Feuilly greeted everyone, while Combeferre and Enjolras helped with bags that seemed to carry alcohol.

“Toast!” Courfeyrac screamed across the room, having an egg cognac in hand. “To best friends! And the best traditions!” Everyone shouted in agreement and drank. The fun naturally flowed, everyone was having fun, drinking, eating or singing. Some did everything at once. There was an American Christmas movie on television, to which no one paid attention, but drew a bit of a ridiculous Christmas atmosphere.

When it stopped snowing and it was just freezing outside, Grantaire decided it was time to take a cigarette and clear his head a bit. He hadn't even pulled the lighter out of his pocket, when someone beside him asked, “Do you have one more?” Grantaire turned to Enjolras, who was leaning against the railing, wrapped in a black coat, his cheeks reddish from winter and alcohol.

“Sure,” Grantaire said immediately, handing Enjolras one of his cigarettes. He tried to say he wasn't watching how gracefully Enjolras took the cigarette from him, put it between his mouth, lit it with one click, pulled long, blinked his eyes, and when he exhaled, he bit his lower lip. Grantaire felt his heart pound even more as Enjolras' tongue wetted his lips. “What's happening?”

“Nothing,” he said immediately, turning to look down the street. He lit his cigarette quickly.

“You look a little… nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Something's happening?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who gazed at him with genuine interest in his eyes. “This whole thing, you know. The decoration, the costumes—” Only now did he realize that he was still wearing a reindeer antler and plushy red nose. “—Singing, stupid movies, candies. I don't know, this all seems so absurd to me. Like, I wouldn't type you in that. Such a stubborn association against material, rich and snobby society and now they celebrate Christmas worse than in American movies.”

“I know,” Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire was unable to admit that his heart missed one beat. “But it's Feuilly's favorite time of the year. He loves Christmas. And…” He just shake his head a little. Everyone knew Feuilly's past. Although he didn't like to talk about it, they gradually put together all the pieces and found that Feuilly's life was not difficult just because he grew up in an orphanage, but his life was interwoven with several hardships and life trials. Yet he always laughed, gave valuable advice to everyone, and tried to be a good friend. “This is the only thing I can do for him.” Grantaire smiled to himself. The first time he heard from Joly that they were planning a Christmas party, he laughed. He imagined that they would meet over a glass of hot cocoa and discuss the same topics as meetings. The idea of spoiling the Christmas atmosphere with their revolutionary language seemed ridiculous. What a surprise to him, though, when he found it to be the genuine, cheesy entertainment that their leader had devised five years ago. He didn't want to believe it at first until he and Bossuet talked about Feuilly. He did a lot for the group, but especially for Enjolras. He supported him at the time when he had a fight with his parents and had no one to take care of him. When Enjolras discovered Feuilly's love for Christmas, he organized a secret celebration with gifts and homemade cookies. Unexpectedly, it has become an annual tradition and every year the celebration has become more colorful and full of family spirit. When they were all together, they felt they didn't need anyone else.

Grantaire was almost frightened by the thought. He never wanted to be addicted to anyone. The idea that he liked such a tradition was inconceivable to him. So when Joly told him when, where, and when the party was taking place, he doubted if he was supposed to come. If Bossuet hadn't pounded him at the door, saying, _ „I have a really great wine from Italy with me!”,  _ he would be alone in his flat right now. 

“I'm glad you came.” Grantaire found himself out of reality for a moment. The cigarette was half-burned and ashes were falling, it was snowing again, and there were a few snowflakes on his head, and he was getting cold. “Really.” He turned to Enjolras, who smiled at him slightly and threw the butt of the cigarette from the balcon down on the payment. “I am always excited to spend time with my friends.” Enjolras put his hands on the railing and looked into the distance as if expecting it to dawn. “We're friends, aren't we?” He just smiled to himself. “I take you as a friend.”

Grantaire had no idea what to say.

**9.**

Surprisingly, Valentine was one of Grantaire's favorite holidays. Not because of flowers, love movies or dates. But thanks to all the sweets that was baked especially for this day. “I love it so  _ freaking _ much!” Grantaire almost screamed placing another of the cinnamon cakes on the table. “This one is absolutely perfect! You should try it.” He cut a piece of cake enthusiastically and gave it in front of Joly’s mouth. But before he could respond, Grantaire put his fork in his mouth. “I'm kidding! I won't give you that. It's so great that hopefully I'll start to believe there's a fucking paradise. And they sell it just for two euros!”

Joly rolled his eyes at his poetry. “You'll just have diabetes. How much you eaten already?”

“Not enough to worry,” Grantaire said offended, his hand covering the rest of his plate. “You have no right to judge me!”

“You're unreal.”

“I need to have as much I can before my  _ angel _ comes.”

“She's an angel,” Joly said with a smile, looking at Grantaire. “And it's probably better that you don't eat like that before her.”

“This is absolutely unnecessary, Doctor,” Grantaire protested, sprawling in his chair to show his friend his bulging belly, which was underneath his loose, black shirt. “See how healthy I am?” He tapped proudly on his stomach. “Like a Dad.”

“If  _ Dad _ is supposed to be her first impression of you, I regret it right now.”

“How about  _ daddy _ ?” Grantaire stuck his tongue at him and laughed when Joly made a disgusted face.

“That’s absolutely  _ no _ for me.”

“Yeah, the Eagle said he once call you a b—”

“Enough,” Joly protested. “I already miss him.” A month ago, Bossuet found a job and has been going home late in the night. Thanks to Joly's school and medical practice and Musichetta's work as a barmaid and volunteer in a stray animal shelter, all three have not seen each other much lately. At least they hoped to see each other on the feast on Valentine, but both Bossuet and Musichetta were suddenly appealed to work. They both get promised a bigger paycheck by their bosses, so they took the shifts with heavy hearts. Joly didn't blame them. They both talked for months about how they wanted to take Joly finally on a proper vacation, so they were saving money for holidays in Thailand. Every euro was good for them.

“Look, no depression, okay? I'm glad I got rid of it today.” Joly looked at Grantaire, who was smiling a little regretfully at him.

“Sorry, buddy,” Joly said and stand up. “I have to go anyway. I have night shift practice in hospital.”

“Today's choice?”

“Gynecology, maternity hospital.” Grantaire chuckled, and Joly rolled his eyes again. “Can you stop it? Childbirth is a wonderful thing.”

“According to all those movies, series and unwanted clicks on Youtube with three per mille of alcohol in blood, I totally disagree with you.”

“You disagree with everything.”

“That's what makes me so attractive.”

“Let Irma think so too,” Joly said with a smile and put on his coat. He tossed his backpack over his shoulder and looked at the clock. “She'll be here soon. Tell her I say hello and that I will bring her tomorrow that book she lend me about massages.”

“What kind of massages?"

“Grantaire.”

“I just want to know if I get more out of it today than the wind in my wallet.”

“Grantaire,” Joly protested again. „Irma is a decent girl.”

“Then I don't understand why you thinked that have a blind date for her with  _ me _ , it’s a good idea.”

“Because, honey,” Joly said, putting his hands on Grantaire's shoulders. “She loves bad boys.” Grantaire just smiled at him and waved goodbye to him. When he saw his friend leave the corner of the street, he just sighed. He looked at the clock on the wall and tapped his foot nervously.

When he had last date? Three, four years ago? He knew it was after his treatment with Anonymous Alcoholics. At that time, he wanted to start something with a girl who was being treated for solvent addiction. She was young, a little furious, her eyes sunken, her hair was bad and her scar on face long. She wasn't his type. But whenever he looked in the mirror to evaluate himself, he had to admit he couldn't get a better one. The girl, not even remembering her name, didn’t refused him, but the date was so awful, embarrassing, and he felt so tired after it, that he decided to stay alone for a while.

He didn't realize he hadn't had anyone for so long. Until Marius appeared in Musain with his girlfriend after the New Year. As soon as he entered the room with a beautiful, tall brunette with a bright smile and the grace of a ballet dancer, everyone was alert. Marius was proud to announce that she is his girlfriend Cosette, they have been dating for three months, met thank to Dr. Mabeuf's internship for environmental science students. In a moment, Cosette was talking with Combeferre and Jehan about ecology and healthy lifestyle. She stayed with them until morning and Grantaire himself had to admit that something about the young girl was attractive. Not her appearance, but her friendly aura.

At that moment, Grantaire realized he hadn't been out with a other people than his group of friends for a long time — (he still found it absurd that his best friends are fighters for a better life, but a few gulps of wine always made him accept this fact) — whether at a meeting or in bed. Only then he realize how long he hadn't kissed any girl or boy.

Other night, he asked Joly if he can get him a girl in his category (and possibilities). Next day Joly told him that he arranged a blind date with his classmate Irma. All he knew about her was that he studied medicine, she liked horses, and she had a cat called Napoleon. Even though Grantaire found the whole concept of blind dates ridiculous, he agreed. Although he had gained a few pounds, had more bruises and acne on his face and hands, he still had no idea how to dress modernly; he felt a little more confident and even more balanced than he had been three years ago when he decided to stop dating. “I will take it like test in school and see if it works,” he told Joly, who almost jumped up a meter high.

The problem was that this test was supposed to start half an hour ago.

Grantaire looked around the café. Although a few new customers arrived, he didn't recognize the young lady Joly had shown him in the photo this morning (she was way more beautiful than he expected she will be, and that scared him a little). He sat in his seat, sighing softly. Today falled much more snow than everyone expected. Probably she was in traffic.

When hour passed, Grantaire ordered a chocolate dessert with strawberries and hot cocoa.

After another twenty minutes he picked up his cell phone and began reading articles about his favorite rock bands. He hadn't tried to admit he was waiting for a message from Irma, that she'd been at school or mistaken café and they need to met some other day.

After another ten minutes, Grantaire shut down the phone, put it in his pocket, and ordered red wine.

After another hour he stopped hoping.

“Would you like anything else?”

Grantaire just smiled at the waitress. “One more wine.”

“Toddy is better choice in this weather.” Grantaire didn't even have to turn around to see who spoke. His voice could be identified even in a loud crowd.

“Oh," Grantaire said, turning to see Enjolras, who was taking his cap off his head. “The almighty Apollo appeared among us and came to reprove the poor.”

“Stop it,” Enjolras said insultingly, moving to Grantaire. “I meant it.” He unbuttoned his coat and slung it over his hand. “Are you waiting for Joly?”

“He's already somewhere burying his elbows inside vagina.” Enjolras turned sharply on him, and Grantaire had to laugh at his frown. “Jesus, you should see yourself. No, he's in the maternity ward. You know what, medical practice. School. Things."

“Ah,” Enjolras said, laughing slightly. “I thought you were so good friends that you were also aware of such…  _ things _ .”

“Things? Sounds strange,” Grantaire protested. “What are you doing here? Any special meeting I don't know about?”

“No," Enjolras said only, and without asking Grantaire, he sat down on chair next to him. “I ordered one cake last week, I'm here to pick it up."

“A gift?” Enjolras looked at him questioningly. “The cake.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, don't say you had a date?” Grantaire laughed and swallowed dry. He felt his heart pound and began to tap his fingers nervously against the glass of wine the waitress had given him. “Some of the Olympian Goddesses wanted to have some fun with the God of Sun? I'm not surprised.”

“Flattering,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. “But unfortunately, no. It's for my mother.”

“That would make Freud happy.”

“Grantaire, really, no,” Enjolras said with disguise in his face. “I almost fainted and vomited now.” Grantaire just laughed and quickly finished his wine. “What about you?” This time it was the Grantaire who just looked questioningly. “Today is St. Valentine's Day. Shouldn't you spend it with your… loved one?”

Grantaire finally realized why he was sitting in Musain.

Date. Blind date. The girl who didn't come.

“Well, Apollo, it looks like both of us aren’t lucky today and will not have anyone to warm our beds. I have no loved one. Which I don't think anyone's surprised. I'm kind of a lost case.”

“So why the flowers?” Grantaire just sighed. Maybe he was a bit old-fashioned, but he thought he should always bring something to the other person on date. His financial means allowed him to spend the last euro on five flowers that had been laid on the table and had dried up a bit.

“Someone give them to me,” Grantaire said immediately, looking at Enjolras, who raised one eyebrow. “Well, buddy, as you said we were friends, so be prepared to call you  _ buddy _ all my life. Deal with it; then, buddy! Do you want to suggest that I, repeat it a little louder again,  _ I _ can't get flower from someone? Look at me! I am the perfect prototype of a guy who can get flowers from a very beautiful girl and a really amazing guy and I — I was supposed to have a date,” he finally said defeated, noticing how Enjolras smiled more and more with each word.

“It didn't work?”

“She didn’t come.” Grantaire bit his tongue and swallowed. Now he regretted speaking before he thought about it. He didn't want to hear from Enjolras that he was sorry. He didn't want his regret. “But that's fine, absolutely. Like, I'm used to rejection, but this kind of it’s pretty mean! If at least she saw me and tell me I was disgusting, or I had nasty rags, or I was drinking really awful wine, I don't really know what happened today to give me this shits, perhaps the workers here are upset to work today and not fuck their lovers so they give something into every wine they have to make every here sick as hell; but this? Like not to come? I could stayed home and eat amazing chinese food I ordered week ago. For free!”

“I think she saw the flowers and runned away.” Grantaire just raised an eyebrow, and Enjolras pointed at the flowers on the table. “Lilies. These are funeral flowers, Grantaire. You put them on a coffin. Not a good gift for first date.”

“I didn't know that,” he said immediately, blinking. “Maybe I should be more specific to the lady in the flower shop. Maybe  _ give me something for the first and last appointment _ , sounded a little confusing.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras said. „But don’t worry about it.”

“I don't,” Grantaire said, trying to speak quickly on another topic. “I'm more amazed that you know what kind of flower you put on the grave.”

“My mother told me. She knows a lot about flowers. I remember when I was a kid, we had that little square behind the house like a garden. Nothing more. And since I went to college, my mom buy pieces of garden around it, and now it's one big, sprawling, flower plain. I had to listen about every flower for years. How betting, when betting, why transplanting, why not, she even told me about their meanings,… When she came to Paris a year ago to come to visit me, she ignored me and talked to Jehan about home plants all day.”

A young waitress appeared in their field of vision and placed a white box beside Enjolras with vanilla and cinnamon scents around it. “For you, Mr. Enjolras.”

“Thank you,” he said with a smile. “Mom will be thrilled.” With that, he rose from his seat and dressed quickly. “I need to go,” he told Grantaire, pointing to the flowers again. “You should put them in some water very quickly or they will dry.”

“When I go out, I'll put them on the first death homeless of the sidewalk.”

Enjolras inhaled sharply, looked like he would say something, but he just breathed deeply. “Enjoy the rest of Valentine's Day, Grantaire.”

“You too,” Grantaire said, his eyes watching Enjolras' figure coming out the door and walking down the snow-covered street. He felt a great relief on his chest. Since the Christmas party, his relationship with Enjolras improved. Sometimes they talked, asked each other how they were, sometimes they even managed to discuss their different views on a particular issues. Grantaire could breathe easily around Enjolras. It was a relief. But they haven't experienced this since they defined themselves as friends. They talked about totally irrelevant things and themselves. That made Grantaire's heart pound.

It was the first time he was alone with Enjolras.

**10.**

After two more hours in Musain, three glasses of wine and two more strawberry desserts, Grantaire Finally understood that Irma isn't coming. He payed, packed his things, hid the lilies under his coat, and decided to go home. He was glad he lived less than ten minutes from Musain, and he didn't have to spend more time in that damned winter than he had to.

When he got home he poured himself some water, turned on television, and finally pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He didn't realize he had it off all the time. As soon as he turned it on, several messages awaited him.

_ Jollly [16:13]: Now Irma wrote to me that she would probably be delayed in practice. Don't disappear! She will arrive! _

_ Jollly [17:00]: She should be with you right now. Is she? _

_ Jollly [17:20]: How's it going? _

_ Jollly [17:30]: Neither of you is online, that's a good sign! :3 _

_ Jollly [18:10]: Now I saw a picture on the facebook, she’s in club with friends ??? _

_ Jollly [18:11]: You went to dance somewhere? Show off your skills man! _

_ Jollly [20:03]: Grantaire, I just finished writing with Irma. I'm really deeply sorry for leaving you in Musain. I wouldn't expect it from her at all! I asked what happened, but it turned out bad. We had a fight and from now I don't want to hear anything about Irma. The end. She disappointed me terribly. Grantaire, are you okay? Please let me know. I know all this must be terribly humiliating for you, I would feel terrible myself. But believe me, this was definitely not my intention. Irma is a really good girl. Or at least I thought so. Sorry, Grantaire, this is not how it should be today. I'm so sorry. _

_ Eagle [20:10]: Joly called me. She’s a bitch. How about beer tomorrow? I don’t have shift tomorrow. Well, like, for ever. I broke one pretty valuable thing today and the boss took it a little personally. Well, I dropped a few bottles of 10-years-old whiskey. Okay, a cardboard. Well, the whole box and it was thirty years old. I had two choices - get fired or pay it. What do you think I chose? So - beer? Tomorrow? Musain? 15:30? _

_ Bahorelism [20:15]: Look, there is an amateur tournament in boxing on Saturday. Join me? Sounds good!  _

Grantaire wasn’t in mood for answering. Even when Joly’s writing seemed confusing, he realized what happened. Irma was in Musain. She probably just walked in, saw him, and turned on her heels again. He didn't blame her. If he'd been expecting a beauty and only had him instead, he would leave too. If Enjolras were sitting there though…

His cell phone clinked. He got a new message.

_ You got new message from Unknown contact +4XX XXX XXX XXX. _

Grantaire frowned and opened the message.

_ Unknown contact [20:58]: Don't forget to put those flowers in the water. It would be a shame. - Enjolras _

He looked at the flowers which laid on the kitchen table. He got up, took one glass, filled it with water and put the flowers in it. The leaves and buds were a bit wilted. Grantaire quickly opened the camera on his phone and took picture of the flowers. He quickly sent it to Enjolras.

_ R [21:01]: Are they already dead? _

_ _ _ _ _ Unknown contact [21:01]: They can still survive. Give them time.  _

_ _ _ _ _ R [21:01]: Thanks, florist! <3 _

_ _ _ _ _ Unknown contact [21:02]: Good night, Grantaire. _

Grantaire just smiled to himself. He save his number quickly under the nickname _ Leader. _

**11.**

“I don't know what I'd prefer,” Bahorel said as he sat down and leaned back on Jehan's things, who was sitting on the chair behind him. “To fuck Wolverine or Troy Bolton.”

“Wolverine. No other choice.” Courfeyrac said, pointing to the screen. “Troy was a terrible character. Everything worked out for him even though he did nothing. Despite being a terrible queen of drama.”

“You have something to say,” Combeferre said beside him, and Courfeyrac stuck his tongue at him.

“What do you think about Sharpay then?” Bahorel asked curiously, handing him a pot of potato chips.

“Victim!” Courfeyrac shouted, outraged and put five chips in his mouth. “She had a clear goal, she wanted to sing, dance, go to Juliard. And that idiot just ruined everything! Her performance were always perfects, her dreams possible. Every time she lost, she could proudly accept and congratulate those who defeated her. Her character is absolutely underrated. Not to mention Ashley is sexy as hell.”

“I don't want to disturb you gentlemen,” Grantaire said protestingly, drinking a glass of coke and rum. “But I don't quite understand how adult guys like you can watch Disney's teenage girls movies.”

“Do you have anything against Disney?” Jehan and Joly said in one time. Grantaire just raised his hands up and decided to keep silent now. The boys smiled at him and focused back on the screen where  _ The Greatest Showman _ was playing.

Musicals were not Grantaire's favorite genre. Actually, he didn't like movies at all. Therefore, when Bahorel suggested that he would have a night full of musical films (that was certainly Jehan's idea), he immediately agreed only because he hadn't been running hot water and heating for a good week and a half in his flat. Bahorel promised him a lot of alcohol and warm sofa. 

When everyone listened carefully to the duet  _ Rewrite the Stars _ , someone rang. Bahorel grunted in dissatisfaction and went to the door. In a moment he was back with Enjolras, who was just taking off his scarf and coat. “Sorry for interrupting,” he whispered to everyone, they greeted him softly and continued to watch the film again.

“Do you want something to drink?” Bahorel asked, pointing to a table planted with all sorts of alcohol.

“No thanks,” Enjolras smiled at him. “Where can I sit?”

“Here,” Courfeyrac said enthusiastically, rising from his seat on the couch. “Combeferre, spread your legs a bit.”

“Shouldn't you two wait until we’re gone or at least asleep?” Bossuet laughed.

“Really funny,” Courfeyrac said, placing his feet on the floor between Combeferre's legs, resting his chin on his knee. “Sit down, buddy.” Enjolras just nodded and sat on the couch between Combeferre and Grantaire. Everyone focused on the screen again, watching closely what would happen next.

Grantaire, however, couldn't concentrate. He kept his eyes on Enjolras, who was shaking a little. He looked stiff, he had dark circles under his eyes, and the bangs fell restlessly in his eyes. He blinked every three second and was breathing very calmly. Grantaire noticed how tired he was. Everyone knew that Enjolras, besides school, also had a law practice that took him too much time and energy. Once he even forgot what he was talking about in a meeting and had to be replaced by Feuilly. It was obvious that there was too much on his shoulder lately.

Enjolras's head slowly fell forward. He twitched quickly and took a deep breath. He struggled to stay awake. “Are you tired?” Grantaire didn't even think he wanted to ask him. His mouth did what they wanted. Enjolras looked at him with a tired look, and only nodded slowly. “Er, don't you want to lean on me?” He pointed to his shoulder, and when Enjolras frowned, he added, “Jehan has appropriated all pillows and it will be more comfortable than waking up with a blocked neck.”

Enjolras stared at him for a moment, blinked a few times, then smiled faintly at him. “Thank you,” he whispered, sitting down a little, leaning his head against Grantaire's shoulder and falling asleep as soon as his head touched his thick sweater. 

“That's cute.” Grantaire looked at Courfeyrac, who was still leaning on Combeferre's knee, looking at both of his friends. “You two. Together. Cute.”

“Take a chip,” Grantaire said immediately, putting one of the salty chips in his mouth. “And stop talking shits.” Courfeyrac quickly chewed, but still somehow smiled strangely. Grantaire wanted to say something again, but he felt Enjolras cling to him. He put his hand around Grantaire's, denying his head more and sighing delightfully. The sound made all the air out of Grantaier's lungs.

“He likes you,” Combeferre whispered this time, his eyes stabbed on TV, but with the same grin as Courfeyrac.

This time Grantaire said nothing. He could only feel the heat that radiated from Enjolras.

**12.**

Grantaire looked at his reflection in the mirror and adjusted his swimsuit, which was unnaturally glued to him. He didn't remember the last time he decided to go swimming. Maybe on high school when he was dating a popular girl and loved swimming dates. Riding down water slides, diving, enjoying wild water, and no one could pull him out of the hot tub. But much has changed over the years. When Grantaire wanted to point something that changed the most, he would say his body. He wasn't a prototype of a perfect body, but it has worsened over the years. “Well, there's nothing you can do,” he told himself, pulling his white shirt over his head. He wasn't in the mood for everyone in the pool to watch his not-perfect-body. Though he didn't mind being the center of attention because of his speeches and jokes; if they only looked at him for his body, it would make him nervous.

He swallowed dry, patted his cheeks, and smiled at himself. He had been thinking about himself for too long. It was getting dangerous. He felt pressure on his chest and trembling in his legs. He wanted to leave. If he looked at himself for a one more second, he would certainly have a panic attack. And he don't have any for more than six months. He hoped it would continue.

He quickly stepped out of the men dressing room and went into the main building. Combeferre, Feuilly and Cosette were chatting on the deck chairs beside the pool while the others were already in water. They were splashing water, sinking, throwing a balls at each other. “Jump!” Grantaire shouted across the hall and jumped right in the middle of the ring where his friends were. Everyone laughed loudly.

They have been at the swimming pool for good three hours. During that time, he found that Jehan was afraid of depths, so he preferred to stay at the edge; Combeferre has a slight allergy to chlorine and if he stayed in the water for too long, red pimples appeared on his hands and neck; Courfeyrac had absolutely no self-preservation; Joly liked to dive and sting others legs under the water; Enjolras used to swim professionally and represent his high school; Bahorel loved water slides; Feuilly hated being splashed at him; Marius couldn't swim properly, and still held onto Cosette, who wore him on her back; Musichetta knew a few exercises like aquabella, and Bossuet slip on slippery tiles and break his chin. The paramedic treated him in a few minutes, but the blood from the wound flowed for a good ten minutes.

“Let's go home, felas,” Courfeyrac said firmly. “But before we leave, look!” He pointed at two doors. “Sauna!” Marius was about to say something, but Courfeyrac interrupted. “One for the ladies, one for us guys. Don’t worry, no one gonna look at your beautiful girl, Marius.” Marius pursed his lips and Cosette blushed slightly.

So Grantaire suddenly sat on a wooden stool in a hot room of stone and soft steam. He was still trying to cover his body with a towel, but after a while it became uncomfortable. As Courfeyrac sprawled beside his right — on his back, with his legs apart, completely naked, caressing his hairy belly — he said, “Fuck it.” And put the towel beside him. Gradually, the others came, with a towel around their waist, which they always laid under them or beside their hands. Only Bossuet was missing, because he decided not to go to the sauna at all, because the chin burned incredibly at the slightest contact with the sweat, and Enjolras, who was still washing chlorine from his body in dressing rooms shower. 

Enjolras. Alone in the dressing room. As he slowly undresses his wet swimsuit and goes under the hot water. As the water slowly runs down his well-developed body, his hair turns dark brown, he sighs delightfully.

Grantaire swallowed quickly, opened his eyes, and looked around the sauna. Others had their eyes closed and breathed in satisfaction. Bahorel talked softly to Jehan and Feuilly about something he didn’t catch. He took a breath and closed his eyes again.

He'd been thinking of him since the day he met him. He wasn't trying to deny it anymore. But he was always thinking about what Enjolras had prepared for speech, what was going to talk about, what he was going to wear, whether he ordered cocoa again and had dried chocolate in the right corner of his mouth, which no one would notice, or if he will smell the awesome cologne again. Jasmine and burnt wood. He thought it was normal to think of his friend like that. They had known each other for just over a year, and it was normal for him to think about him. Everyday. Sometimes in the morning just after he woke up. Sometime at night when he lay alone in bed. Sometimes he thought of him all day.

Even though he didn't think about the others like this, he still thought it was normal.

But today was different. As they walked into the dressing room to put on their swimsuits, Enjolras stood at the end of the row of lockers and immediately began to remove his shirt, with a white, undershirt underneath. Grantaire stood by his locker and, without realizing it, remained completely frozen in place. It was actually the first time he had seen everyone without their clothes, but something about Enjolras was completely different. His skin color, elaborate shoulders, muscular back. When he touched the hem of his tank top, he glanced away and quickly picked up his things and went to the toilet. He was glad that no one noticed. 

He was just about to start thinking about how embarrassed it must look; when the saunas door opened and Enjolras entered. He sat beside Combeferre opposite Grantaire, keeping the towel tied around his waist, closing his eyes, resting his head against a wooden wall, and folding his hands in his lap.

Sweat started dripping on his body immediately. Grantaire swallowed softly. The first sweatdrop ran down from his forehead to his eyebrows. Another tugged a path from his neck into a hole in his chest bones. Grantaire swallowed again. When another sweat began to run down one of his nipples, the air stuck in his throat. How come he never noticed that Enjolras have  _ a piercing in his right nipple _ ? He didn't noticed it all the time they were in the water. It was true that he was trying to avoid Enjolras and was still fighting deliberately with Bahorel and Joly, but did he really miss such an  _ important thing _ ? How come he never saw the outline of metal balls through his clothes? Enjolras stretched a little, filled his chest as if he were straightening his spine, and his entire body glistened. A few drops of sweat ran at a crazy speed, from the chest down, through the drawn belly, to the hem of the towel, when they drank into. Grantaire watched them with interest. When they disappeared into the cotton, he swallowed again. This time louder he thinked.

“You okay?” Joly asked suddenly beside him. Grantaire turned quickly at him and looked at his friend's worried gaze. Joly’s gaze went a little lower. The corners of his lips snapped a little upward. Grantaire instinctively reached for the towel and covered himself.

“Everything's okay,” Grantaire said immediately, rising from his seat. He tied his towel around his waist and quickly said, “I'm just thirsty. It's hot here. Too much. For me, ya know?” He didn't wait for answer and went out quickly. Instead of going into the pool, he went to the dressing room. He quickly stepped under one shower and dropped the icy water on himself. He gasped and groaned. The towel soaked instantly and fell to the ground, uncovering his  _ pride _ , which was half-hard, little red and stuck into the air.

“Shit,” Grantaire whispered to himself, leaning his hands on the shower tiles and closing his eyes. He tried hard not to think of all the sweat droplets that adorned Enjolras' body.

He stood beneath the shower for fifteen minutes before calming his pounding heart and dick. 

**13.**

Grantaire drank a glass of bourbon in oneshot and gestured to the bartender that he wanted another. As soon as a full glass appeared in front of him, he immediately drink it all again. He knew none of his friends would be proud of him. But at the moment he was thinking more about how much he was mad at himself.

How could he get excited by seeing one of his close friends half naked? Sure, he wasn't Enjolras' favorite, and they had almost nothing in common, but since they'd seen each other in Musain on Valentine's Day, something had changed between them. Whenever he came to Musain, Enjolras smiled at him and often asked him what day he had. When the boys were drunk at the bar and laughed so much that they disturbed all the customers at the café, he just smiled at their behavior and sometimes joined them. He also noticed that he began to touch him. Lightly. Occasionally he ran his hand over his shoulder, thanking him by caressing the back of his palm or adjusting the restless hair that curled into his forehead. It was only seconds, but they seemed like eternity for Grantaire. Enjolras treated all his friends like this. But Grantaire always felt special when he paid some attention to him.

That annoyed him. He quickly drank his glass and asked for another. He didn't understand why he was still thinking about him. He thought of how beautiful his voice was, how soft his hair look, how hot his body was, and how his lips were so beautifully cut. Normally, a few pounds of wine had driven away those thoughts. But today? It has been almost a week since he was with the boys in that damn sauna. And since then, he couldn't stop thinking of their leader.

He could still see his body in front of him, the piercing in his nipple, the sweat droplets that ran down where…

Grantaire quickly drank another glass and put his head in his hands. He ran a hand through his hair and groaned deeply. He was so angry! He couldn't understand why his heart was pounding, why his legs were shaking, why he wanted to hug him, why he wanted to kiss him, why he wanted to bury his hand in his hair. He didn't understand why he was so attracted to him. He knew from childhood that he was attracted to both girls and boys, but it was never so strong.

“I've been dry for a long time,” he said to himself. After all, it had been almost three years since he'd last felt someone's body beneath him.

“Seem like you’re pretty thirsty.” Grantaire looked next to him where a young man leaned against the bar. He was a little taller than Grantaire, his eyes almost black and his blond hair pulled into a ponytail. His face was soft and he had a small freckle above his lip. His clothes was a little small for him, but by his short T-shirt he could see his muscles looming beneath the cloth. He could be no more than twenty. The young man looked at him and smiled slightly. “I'm Pierre.”

“Grantaire.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Of course.”

Grantaire remembered just how they tapped their glasses of whiskey, laughed a few times at his awkward jokes, Pierre dissolved his hair. Then he just felt his back in the fabric of his couch, and Pierre sat astride him. He could feel the boy squeezing his chest, crushing his cheeks with his hands, and swallowing his kisses hungrily. He moaned loudly and said things that Grantaire was immediately throwing out of his head. He buried his hands in his hips and returned the kisses.

It wasn't long before Pierre lay on the couch beside him, grabbing Grantaire's hands and pulling him on himself. “Come to me,” he whispered excitedly, and Grantaire opened his eyes. He saw Pierre taking off his shirt and expose his drawn chest and stomach. He had a turtle tattoo on his right shoulder. Grantaire wondered how it must have hurt for such a sensitive spot.

_ Did it hurt when Enjolras pierced his nipple? _

“No, no, no.” His protests were worthless. Before he realized what his brain was doing, he saw Enjolras in front of him. In his angelic beauty, half-naked, smiling at him, his hand indicates to him to lie down on him. “Jesus, shit, no.”

“Something’s wrong?” Pierre asked in confusion, but Grantaire had already tossed his shirt on him and quickly took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him into the hallway.

“Sorry dude, this not gonna work.”He threw Pierre out of his flat and quickly locked the door behind him. He slammed his head into the closed door and squeezed the hinges. Only now did he realize how much Pierre looked like Enjolras. Only eyes were different. But their angelic beauty was almost comparable.

Grantaire picked up his cell phone and dialed Joly's number. He needed to hear his friend's voice now. To calm him down. His heart pounded and his crotch burned. As soon as he remembered Enjolras' voice, his knees buckled. “ _ Yes _ ?” Came the apparatus.

“Dude, I can't go to that fucking meeting today. I need to be home. But not alone. Dude, I really need it now—”

“ _ You drank, honey _ ?” Joly asked cautiously, and he could hear him closing the door and locking.

“Yeah, really, I didn't want to. But I had to. I'm so fucked now—”

“ _ What happened, Grantaire _ ?”

Grantaire just sighed. He leaned back against the door, slumped on his ass, and closed his eyes. “I almost made one fucking mistake.”

_ “I'll be with you in ten minutes. Don't do anything stupid.” _

Both of them hung up. Grantaire was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. “Fucking mistake.”

Without realizing it, Grantaire hadn't slept with anyone since.

**14.**

“That's all for today,” Enjolras said. “See you again on Wednesday.”

“What?” Feuilly asked in surprise, looking at the clock. “It’s pretty soon.”

“If you want to discuss something, you can,” Enjolras said again, putting on his blue jacket.

“There's something wrong with you,” Jehan said, tapping his chin with his finger. “You end the meeting sooner than usual.”

“You were a little off today,” Courfeyrac added. 

“And you're wearing some decent clothes,” Bahorel finished the thoughts of all.

“Oh my God,” Joly cried suddenly, clapping loudly. “You have a date!”

All of them looked at Enjolras, whose cheeks turned a little pink. “Well, I wouldn't say a date,” he said quietly, adjusting his jacket. “I have a boyfriend for some time actually.”

“How come I don't know it!” Courfeyrac roared angrily, jumping to his feet.

“Because you would make a terrible scene right away,” Combeferre said.

“You knew?!” Courfeyrac asked, and the taller man nodded. “I hate you both! Such a gossip and you didn't tell me!”

“I couldn't lie to Combeferre when he saw us together.”

“You saw him?!” Combeferre just rolled his eyes at Courfeyrac's theatricality. “Is he handsome?”

“You can judge by yourself,” Enjolras interjected and finished his glass of water. “He's coming to pick me up today.”

Everyone wanted to ask more questions when they heard doorbell rang on café door. A tall, thin young man wore beige and cloth trousers, a white, tight-fitting shirt, and a watch on his right hand. Chestnut hair, light blue eyes, and smooth shaved skin. He looked a little older than the others, maybe around his thirty. As he looked around the room and saw Enjolras, he smiled pleasantly at him and walked over to him. Without saying anything, he kissed Enjolras on the cheek and stroked his hand with his. Everyone in the room whistled loudly, some of them admiringly opened their mouths, and Bahorel was already shouting out inappropriate notes that were silenced by Jehan's hand.

Enjolras stroked the young man's hand and looked at the others. “Friends,” he said pleasantly, intertwining his fingers with the young man. “This is Marc.” Marc smiled at everyone and just nodded his head in greeting. Before Enjolras could break free from the eyes of his friends, Courfeyrac immediately rushed to them and began asking questions about the older one. Combeferre tried to stop him and Enjolras gave his partner an apologetic look.

“Dude, what a piece,” Bossuet whispered to Joly. He raised his eyebrows and Bossuet kissed him apologetically on his pouting mouth. “Don't worry, you're the best! But you must admit that his pretty handsome.”

“Okay, I admit it,” Joly said immediately, but he was still watching Bossuet's eye. “But is clear that someone like Enjolras will not just go out with  _ just someone _ , will he? What do you think, Grantaire?” Joly glanced at Grantaire, who was sitting silently in his place. He was holding a wine glass in his hand, just in front of his mouth, his eyes wide and looking toward Enjolras and Marc. It was obvious he was shaking a little. “Grantaire?” Joly asked again, pushing his chair a little to his side. When he didn't react again, he stroked his shoulder. Grantaire twitched, placed his glass on the table, and looked at Joly. His mouth was ajar and his eyes were terrified. “Are you OK?”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Sure why not. Why shouldn't I be fine? Why would I—” He stood up, indicating with his hand that he needed go to toilet. He did not wait for his friends to react and quickly reached the men's restrooms. He headed it straight into the cabin. As soon as the door closed behind him, he knelt by the bowl and rested his hands on the cutting board. His stomach tightened, his throat dry. A painful groan came from his mouth. His fingers dug into the cutting board and leaned over the toilet. Nothing came out of the mouth except the sounds.

When Grantaire realized he wasn't going to relieve his stomach pain, he leaned his back on the cabin and began to breathe deeply. The feeling of wanting to vomit kept coming back. His head whistled. There was a dumpling in his throat. There were tears in his eyes. “What's going on?” He asked himself, wiping his forehead with his hand. It was all sweaty. “Shit, Enjolras, explain to me why I still feel these shits for you?”

Grantaire heard Marc laugh to the toilet. He had a throat laugh. One that was attractive to most people. Grantaire's heart pounded. “I don't want this, I don't want this,” he whispered to himself, leaning against his knees.

He know he felt  _ something _ about Enjolras. He had been aware of this for a long time. But he tried to fight it. Whenever Enjolras laughed at him, he tried not to look at him for too long. When the leader wanted something from him, he did it as quickly as possible and did not want to be alone in his presence. Joly could feel it, just like Bossuet. But both did not comment. They knew very well that Grantaire didn't want to date anyone. He said he was unusable for a relationship. He prayed that those feelings would disappear or Enjolras gave him an excuse not to like him.

And now he found a boyfriend. A great opportunity to get out of the bondage made of his feelings.

So why did it make him just so jealous?

**15.**

“Grantaire?” The black haired man looked away from his food on table, where Enjolras stood above him. He swallowed quickly. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to thank you for your comments on our demonstration.”

“Yeah, sure, my pleasure.” Grantaire took another piece of meat into his mouth and noticed Enjolras sitting in front of him. He looked at him questioningly. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I just wanted to thank you,” Enjolras said again, leaning his elbows on the table. “I just wonder why you weren't there? When you have spent so much work on it.”

“Because—”  _ You were there with your boyfriend. _ “—I had my rehearsal that day. And it was the last test for Art history. The old asshole is completely torturing me! He feels like he understands everything better than I do. Sure, he's a teacher, but that doesn't mean he ate the knowledge of the world, does he?” Enjolras just nodded. “So I kind of accidentally told him that in class, and the Rector is his big buddy. So he kind of fired me up. And before you start to complain about the whole campus, other professors stood up for me and said he just don’t like me. Such an asshole. Well, I got someone else for the exam, and I passed that test and — oh, I'm going to another year of school, huray. So I went with my friends for one drink, and get little carried away. You know. Like always. I think it's better I wasn't there. I was so ragged you'd rather throw me out.”

“Yes,” Enjolras admitted. “But to sleep at home.”

“Even drunk and high, I can still come out with witty arguments you will never defeat," he said with a laugh and started to eat again.

“I still want to thank you very much.”

“Apollo, stop it, or I'll start blushing. Don't — what is it?” Enjolras held a black string in his hand. Several black balls gleamed on it. Before the bindings were two gold balls. It was a bracelet. It looked pretty expensive.

“Shamballa,” Enjolras said, pushing his hand closer to the black haired man. “For you.”

“What, wait, what, what?” Grantaire repeated several times until he almost gagged on his food. Enjolras grabbed his right hand and tied the bracelet around his wrist before Grantaire even noticed it. “What?” Grantaire asked himself rather quietly.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, as if it were obvious why he was giving him that. “I saw it in a shop when I went to school. It reminded me of you.”

“Me?”

“Maybe it's the black and golden in the back. You know, you look too harsh and inaccessible too. For the first time, I thought you were awfully rude and I had quite a distance from you. But after a while I found out who you really are. Like those golden balls, you have a pure heart and you are a really nice, talented and sometimes pretty funny.”

When Enjolras finished his entire monologue, he finally looked at Grantaire, who had his whole ears and cheeks red. His hand was still stretched out in front of him. “Thanks,” Grantaire whispered suddenly as he recovered from his shock and examined the bracelet. “But it looks expensive.”

“It's a gift. The price doesn’t matter.”

“Shouldn't you spoil your boyfriend like this, not me?”

Grantaire wanted to slap himself for this question. Enjolras did something nice for him, and his only reaction is to remind him of his boyfriend? Stupid jealousy! It completely absorbed him. Ever since Enjolras introduced Marc to their small group of revolutionaries, he had been coming to pick him up after every meeting. He often drank with the boys, occasionally talked to them. He didn't stay long and Grantaire was glad for it. Whenever he saw Enjolras's eyes light up, hugh each other or kiss their cheeks - Grantaire always had to turn his head to side not to look at them. He always felt sick.

Enjolras said nothing and his gaze darkened a little. “If you don't like—”

“No, it's beautiful! Really Apollo! But somehow, it surprised me. Aren't you one of those who lobby for no holidays to be commercial? Birthdays, Christmas and all?”

“There is no holiday,” Enjolras reminded the elder, smiling slightly at him. “I just wanted to make you happy. And friends make each other happy with gifts.”

“But you never gave me one,” Grantaire said immediately.

“I need to change that, I guess,” Enjolras said with a smile, getting up. Then he said something about getting out. Maybe to school, maybe home, maybe for another date with Marc. Grantaire didn't heard. He kept looking at the jewelry that was tied around his wrist.

Grantaire didn't finish his meal that day.

**16.**

Grantaire absently rubbed his fingers over the bracelet on his hand, which gleamed brilliantly in the white light. His hands were trembling, but the bracelet gave him some warmth and confidence that everything would be all right. He tried to breathe normally, but his heart wasn't listening. He tried to convince himself that everything would be all right, but his inner voice kept shouting at him. “Are you all right, sir?” A young girl, dressed in white, in front of Grantaire. Nurse. She smiled pleasantly at him and her cold hand touched his. “Are you all right?” She repeated her question, and Grantaire tried to smile at her, but instead gave a painful groan. He shook his head and looked again at the floor. “Everything's all right, sir,” she said pleasantly, stroking his shoulder. “I know how important this gentleman is to you.”

“Enjolras,” Just saying his name gave him some confidence. “His name is Enjolras.”

“We already know that, sir,” she said slowly, rising to her feet. “Would you like to see him?” Grantaire hurled himself out of place until it darkened in front of his eyes and almost fainted. The nurse just laughed at his enthusiastic expression. “Ever since we brought your friend here, I've always been thinking about you. How you insisted to see him. I talked to doctor so you could see him for at least ten minutes. But you mustn't tell anyone, we could have quite a lot of trouble because of it.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispered softly, and nurse led him from the long hallway to the door with the big three letters on the door; ICU. His heart fell to his stomach. The nurse gave Grantaire a blue cloak and a white veil over his mouth. While dressing, she started with her monologue: “He's back to his senses, but he will sleep. Please be as quiet as possible. Do not unnecessarily try to touch him or let him speak. The wound is still fresh. He might be a little confused when he wakes up. If anything happens, you have a blue switch over his bed, push it and I will be there in a minute.” With that she opened the door and gestured that he could enter.

As soon as Grantaire entered, he had no idea what had hit him more. The smell of disinfection. The twilight that made the room strangely dark and heavy. The beep that checked Enjolras' vital functions. Or the look of his friend's dead-looking body.

Grantaire slipped at a small chair next to bed and sat down slowly. Enjolras had a few gash on his face, a stitched wound over the top of his head, and around his breathing mask, he could see his swollen lower lip. The duvet covered him down from his chest, but he could still see the bruises beginning to stain under his hospital shirt. One hand was pierced by a cannula into which dripped clear liquid from a dripper, around the other he wore a rubber bracelet with his name. There was a dried blood in his hair.

Grantaire could feel tears in his eyes. “You're such an idiot,” Grantaire whispered, his hand slightly closer to Enjolras. He touched his back with his finger and sighed softly. “Why do you have to play a fucking hero on every occasion?” He was icy, his bony fingers white and heavy.

He looked into his face again. He didn't move. There was no eye movement under the eyelids. If the devices around them did not make a loud beep, he wondered if Enjolras was breathing at all. He began to caress his hand gently afterwards, and all the time he quietly begged all the saints for Enjolras to wake up as soon as possible.

Time passed infinitely slowly. Therefore, as the door opened, he turned to ask if the nurse could leave him in the room longer. But she wasn't alone in the door. “Grantaire.” Marc looked at him sternly. The nurse gazed at them both quietly, saying, “You have five minutes. Then you both have to leave.” With that, she closed the door and left the two men in the room.

They both looked at each other quietly. Marc's gaze dropped to their joined hands on the bed. Grantaire followed his gaze and quickly withdrew his hand. He didn't want to say anything when he felt Marc take his arm and make him stand. He was almost a head lower than the older one. “Can you explain to me how it is possible that if something happens to him, you are there too?”

“If you didn't notice, I'm in the same group of his friends.”

“I didn't miss that,” Marc said coldly, finally letting go of Grantaire. “That doesn't explain anything.”

“We do demonstrations almost every two weeks. It's almost normal that sometimes something happens to us.” Grantaire raised his voice a little and felt his eyes filled with tears again. “He must always rescue someone, I told him hundred times that I would take care of myself.”

“So, you want to say, he saved you?”

Grantaire looked into his eyes. They seemed to burn him at any moment. “Yes,” he whispered.

Grantaire just swallowed dry and closed his eyes tightly. “Get out.” Grantaire looked at Marc, who closed his hinges. “Get out,” he repeated louder.

Grantaire grant his wish. He quickly pulled off his hospital clothes, gave them to the nurse, without answering her questions, and went home. It took him half an hour to get to his apartment from the hospital. All the time he thought only of what had happened a few hours ago. Enjolras, who was proudly speaking on stage. Enjolras, who proudly stood beside him. Enjolras, who jumped in front of him when an angry crowd rushed at them and the police tried to calm them down. Enjolras, who was suddenly lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

Grantaire came home like a soulless body. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat on the couch. He turned on the TV but didn't even notice it. His tears began to pour slowly into the glass. After a few tears, he began to cry. He could hear all the sounds his throat made, he could feel the salty tears in his mouth, he could feel his cheeks burning, he couldn't breathe.

“Enjolras,” he sobbed his name into the pillow he clutched, imagining he was holding a blonde man. How much he wanted to stroke his beautiful hair, his soft skin, to feel his warmth. “Idiot,” he whispered softly before falling asleep from exhaustion.

He woke up in the morning with headache, puffy eyes, and spilled whiskey on the carpet. Jehan told him around twelve pm that Enjolras had woken up and would be home in a week. After two weeks, the reunion of the Musain café was convened again, but rather revolved around Enjolras himself, who looked fine with just a small scar on his forehead and a few bruises on face and body.

“Enjolras was talking about you,” Combeferre told him that night, playing chess and drinking red wine. “He told me that you didn't come to the hospital to visit him.”

Grantaire just nodded and continued to play. Whenever he thinked about Enjolras, he started to cry. He couldn’t cry in front of Enjolras like a small child. He kept texting to Joly and Jehan, asking about his condition. Bud he did not dare to go to visit him. He remembered Marc's cold gaze.

“I had a lot of work,” he finally said, ordering another glass.

It was hard to admit that it had been six years since he had cried for the last time, and for the first time, for someone he loved.

**17.**

If anyone wanted to see Grantaire in the spring of that year, they must to travel almost to the very edge of Paris. One of his paintings, which he gave to the professor as the final work of his Art subject, was so intrigued that he offered Grantaire private lessons. Of these, he took away not only valuable advice, but also an offer to become one of the ten exhibitors of the best student works that will be exhibited in a café next to the Louvre for a month. It was a tremendous honor that surprised Grantaire so much that he was only able to agree a few days after the bid. Together with other selected students, he was given access to the professor's two-storey house, which served only as a studio. Grantaire not only worked there, but also spent the nights. 

As soon as he told the news to Bossuet, all their friends knew it that evening. When he arrived at the meeting, everyone tapped him with a glass of wine and asked him when they could see his works. “In three months, at the end of July.” He drank seven bottles of wine together with Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel and Feuilly that night.

On the opening day of the show, Grantaire found that he no longer had a decent suit. It was the first time he was afraid to wear his ragged jeans and jacket, which had been our of fashion for the last fifteen years. However, his appearance was described as “groundbreaking”, “unconventional” and even “rebellious” at the opening. “If Enjolras heard them,” Grantaire said with a laugh and looked at his two best two friends. “Then he'd be fucked up with those words. I? And rebellious? Come on.”

After five hours, he decided to fade away with his friends. Jehan tried to persuade Bahorel to get a picture of two kittens with a dead peacock and mice; Courfeyrac constantly commented on the appearance of his classmates; Combeferre tried to find some hidden meaning in all the works; Bossuet managed to break the sculpture worth 500 euros; Joly sneered at Grantaire's speech as a proud father, and Feuilly kept his company and asked him about every detail of his hard work. The attention the boys had given him was completely new to him, and he can't lie how much he enjoyed it. 

The only one missing was Enjolras. He congratulated Grantaire in café with all his friends days before, but he never showed up between the doors. Grantaire pulled his cell phone out of his jacket several times during the evening and checked whether he accidentally wrote or called him, but the display was empty. Grantaire always bit his lip and hid the cell phone back in his pocket. “There is definitely a good reason why he isn't here,” Joly told him quietly as he looked at the display for the tenth time that night.

“Sure, I know. It's just me. I had no hope. Jesus, I know that he cares about art as much as I do for his bloody revolution. It's clear he found something better. Like learning. Or he's with the idiot he’s dating.” Grantaire snorted and finished his glass of champagne. “We aren't good friends, shit, whether he's here or not, I don’t fucking care.” Joly smiled sadly, trying not to notice the gloomy expression that Grantaire gave to everyone.

“He will come, I’m sure.”

He didn't.

“ _ Grantaire, you must see this _ !” Grantaire quickly pulled his cell phone away from his ear, where Joly was whistling with enthusiasm. “ _ You must go to Musain immediately!” _ Joly hung up before Grantaire could object. The black-haired man grunted and set off on a long journey from the studio to the Musain café.

When he arrived at the well-known café, he was struck by the image that came out in the center of the room. “That's…” he whispered to himself, closing the door quickly behind him. “Shit, shit, that's my painting!” He pointed to the wall where his painting was in a bronze frame with ornaments. “How did it get here?” He asked the bartender as he leaned his elbows against the bar. He heard his friends laugh at back. “Don’t fucking care what you hear behind me, how did the painting get here?”

“Perhaps the boss bought it?” The bartender quickly grabbed the last glass, placed it on the counter, and went to pay attention for one of the customers.

“Like, like, how—”

“Actually, they just guarding it for me.” Grantaire turned sharply and looked at Enjolras, who was smiling pleasantly at him. “It wouldn't be so impressed in my home. I don't get so many visits,” he said, gazing at the picture. “The colors, the motive... It would be a pity if nobody talked about it, right?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Grantaire waved his hands puzzled, gesturing frantically. “You?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said as if it were a matter of course.

“My painting?”

“Yes.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like it very much. And the light that shone on it at the vernissage did not flatter it at all. Someone should tell people that the yellow light bulbs are already pasé.”

“But you weren't at the vernissage.”

Enjolras's smile dropped a little. “Yes, that's right.” He went a little closer to Grantaire and said apologetically, “I'm sorry.”

“Jesus, Apollo, it’s fine. I know you don't care about art. I will not make a scene about it.”

“Don't say that," Enjolras said immediately. “I wanted to support you.”

“But there was something more important, wasn't it?”

Enjolras took a deep breath and said defeatedly, “Yes. It was more important than your opening night, I admit it. But it certainly wasn't more important than You.”

Grantaire tried not to notice his cheeks burning. He swallowed dry, trying to get rid of his nervous humor. “Did you have a talk with Zeus when the sun should come again?”

“Marc and I broke up.”

Grantaire twitched a little. “What?” He whispered in surprise, but Courfeyrac was already rushing toward them, with a mouth full of crammed cocoa dessert, took Enjolras by the shoulders and turned him toward him. He mumbled something and Enjolras frowned at him because he didn't understand. Courfeyrac swallowed swiftly until he chewed and repeated his question, “What. The. Fuck?”

“Ah,” Enjolras whispered, his chin shaking a little. “We just broke up. It wasn't nice. And I don't want to talk much about it, my friends,” Enjolras said as he looked at all his friends at the tables and noticed their surprised looks. “That happens in life.” With that, he and Courfeyrac walked to the table, where Combeferre waited for them with a bewildered expression, and both of them began to ask him something quietly.

Grantaire had to turn his gaze back to the bar. Because he was smiling.

He had no idea if he smiled because Enjolras bought his painting or because he broken up with Marc.

**18.**

Lots of things in life happen as coincidences. A month after Enjolras officially said he broke up with his boyfriend, Grantaire discovered pub called Corinth. They had the best beer he ever drank. Sometimes when he felt exhausted after training with Bahorel, he came here to recharge his energy. After three beers, one round of green shot and two games of snooker, he always felt reborn.

It was his fifth visit that changed everything. As soon as he entered the gloom of the pub, where there was laughter, the smell of wood and burnt food, he felt something weird. Cheerful, loud group of men at the bar. He decided to avoid then and sat two tables away with his back to them. When the waitress brought him the first beer with a shot of green, he heard Enjolras' name. He paused, turning his head slowly to one side so that he could look at whoever spoke his name.

“I'm freaking lucky,” he whispered to himself when he saw Marc talking to a group of five men at the bar. Everyone laughed loudly, talked about something quietly, and yelled something all over the space, the bartender constantly refilling them with expensive rum. Marc looked the same, perhaps only with a few more wrinkles around his eyes. He hadn't even greeted him since he'd seen him in the hospital at Enjolras' bed. That would be almost three months ago.

He would probably finish his beer and leave, because only the fact that he was in the same room as the brunet irritated him, but something forced him to stay. In almost every sentence in his speech, he heard Enjolras's name. It was always quiet, and Grantaire couldn't tell what they were talking about due to the noise in the pub, but the frequency of the name Marc kept saying almost frightened him.

“Éponine.” Grantaire touched the waitress's arm, who brought him another beer and smiled pleasantly at him. “Don't you know what those guys are talking about over there?” He pointed at Marc and his crew, and Éponine just sighed.

“A typical machos,” she shrugged, picking up an empty glass. “They chase their egos.”

“Do they talk about some boy?”

“Do you know them?” She asked immediately, raising her eyebrows.

“A little,” Grantaire said, leaning back on his chair. “The brown-haired guy was dating one of my friends.”

“Enjolras?” Grantaire looked at her in surprise. “I don't know him,” she said, approaching Grantaire a little. “But they talk about him quite often.”

“Often?”

“The boys are here practically every day,” she said, leaning closer to him. “I don't have much night shift, but as far as I know from Montparnasse, the bartender over there, the man talks about him in one piece. Especially the last few weeks.” She straightened up and looked at the bunch of friends who laughed out loud. “They don't talk good about him.”

“What does he say about him?”

Éponine noticed how harshly Grantaire's voice sounded. He straightened, frowning. “Will you make problem if I tell you?”

“Do I have to promise you?”

“No. But wait before my shift ends, plese. I don't want to stay here until morning because of some accident. My brother would like to see me sometimes.” She turned and walked back to the bar. Grantaire noticed how she whispered something to Montparnasse, who looked at Grantaire. He just nodded and gestured to move to the bar. Grantaire took a full glass of beer and sat on the edge of the bar, where Montparnasse handed him another green shot.

“On me,” he said as he placed his glass beside the beer. “For making a little more fun this night.”

Ignoring the shot, Grantaire began to concentrate on what the group next to them was talking about. In the beginning, he didn't hear much, but after a while he heard the sentence:“„I'm actually glad I'm not with Enjolras anymore.” Grantaire felt his heart pound. He tilted his head so he could see Marc. He sat directly across from him, but didn't notice him. He kept chatting with his friends cheerfully. “If only you could see it! I told you about his treasure collection, right, those books and writings, and those shits. I thought maybe I wouldn't run into another silly man, worse than Paul was, but look! Here we are. I gave pretty much energy do not start laughing whenever he started about his bullshits.” Grantaire swallowed dry and squeezed his hinges. “Actually, I realize that I've been with him for so long just because of his look. You ever saw him, didn't you?” A few of them nodded. “Now imagine. You have him in your house.” Marc leaned over to his friends and added a slimy smile. “In bed. Naked. Ready to be taken apart.” His friends whistled, Marc laughed, and Grantaire felt blood pouring into his face. Not shame, but anger. “But,” Marc said mysteriously, waiting for everyone to listen closely. “Nothing happens! The kid was really unbeatable in terms of stretching the first night. Look, we kissed - okay, we touched each other - okay, I even had the feeling that some manual work would happen and he always backed up at the last minute! I normally hoped he would fall asleep so hard once and I could fuck him in his sleep because I wanted a bag so hard. Someone just need to fuck him so he will shut up his pretty mouth and be good for the only one thing he was made for. For be a good bitch, hole to use.”

Grantaire couldn't listen to it anymore. Whatever his feelings for Enjolras, he couldn't listen to how ugly his ex-partner spoke of him. He drank a shot from Montparnasse, rose from his seat, and walked to a group of boys. He tapped one of them on the shoulder and said, “Can you move?” The boy turned to him, frowning, but moved to the one side. When Marc saw him, he just snorted. “Surprised?”

“Pretty much,” Marc said, straightening up.

“Do you know him?” One of the boys on his right asked him.

“Yeah, he's one of Enjolras's buddies.” Everyone was focusing on Grantaire now, but he didn't see their eyes. He could only see Marc, his crossed hands on his chest, and the contemptuous look on his face. “What you want?”

“I don’t fucking care how are you and what you're doing. But you're talking shits about a pretty good friend of mine here and I'd like you to stop.”

“Why do you care?” Marc asked angrily. “Perhaps it's my business.”

“Perhaps not.”

“I'm not saying anything that isn't true. Or perhaps your amazing leader does not entrust you with such things? That he is frigid? Absolutely the worst kind of lover you want to have?”

“Just stop it,” Grantaire said, looking at the others. “You are miserable if you can talk about this.” He turned his back on the group and went back to his seat.

“I'm actually surprised to see you here.” Grantaire paused and turned his head to signal that he was listening. “I thought you'd be with Enjolras somewhere now.” With that, he looked at the others in his group and snorted again. “That's the boy I talked about last time. He—” With that he looked at Grantaire and his gaze almost burned him. “—Is in love with my ex.”

Grantaire said nothing. He knew that his feelings for Enjolras were not friendly. It took him some time, but decided not to fight them. It wasn't worth it. The more he hoped he wouldn't love Enjolras, the more he thought of him, and every little thing he did seemed irresistible. Less than a year ago, he confided to Joly in the drunken fog, who decided not talk about it anymore. Grantaire was grateful for that. But he noticed how Joly was watching him. He examined every detail of his face whenever he and Enjolras were talking, when he received a call from him, message or when he spoke to a group of enthusiasts, and their gaze met. It wasn’t long after when he noticed that all his friends were looking at him like that. But everyone was mature enough not to comment and embarrass him. Even Courfeyrac, who had the ability to exaggerate everything and make huge scenes of everything, and Jehan, who love all the romantic clichés; were quiet and decided not to comment on Grantaire's feelings for the leader.

So he wasn't surprised that Marc knewed as well.

“Did your shouting in the dark have any meaning?”

“Sure,” Marc said with a laugh. He drank rum and licked his lips. “I kept wondering why you were hanging around him all the time, caring about him all the time and seeing you cry at his hospital bed, really hilarious.” Grantaire turned on Marc and raised an eyebrow. “And then I realized. You want him. Of course. Who wouldn't want that beautiful face and amazing body. Too bad he's not the bitch I imagined. Big boss on stage, but old virgin in bed. Terror. The boy deserved to just be fucked out of his brain to finally shut up. Which is the only thing he deserve. And if you l— ”

The thought disappeared somewhere between the crunch of the broken nose and the flush of blood. Marc fell on his back and gasped. By the time the brain registered what had happened, he had felt Grantaire sit above him. His right fist was clenched and he hit Marcs several times. Grantaire screamed something, but had no idea what. His eyes were red and his body responded only to his brain's orders: PUNCH. PUNCH. PUNCH.

He was pulled away from Marcs by a two-meter-high policeman who pacified him and said, “You need to sleep it away, drunkard.” He took him to the station.

**19.**

“You can go now.” Grantaire looked at the cop standing in the cell door. Grantaire stretched his wooden legs and stood up. He felt his whole body ache from the mattress on the ground. The policeman showed him paper he had to sign. Then he handed him the backpack with all his things and just pointed at the door. “Someone is there to pick you up.” With that, the policeman focused back on the computer screen and finished his lunch.

Grantaire frowned. Who come? Joly and Bahorel knew Éponine. She must have let them know about the incident in the pub. But when he saw the black car that was the only one waiting in front of the station, he didn't recognize it. He walked cautiously to it, and when he opened the passenger door, he just said, “Oh, no.” and shut the door again. 

“Can you please get in?” Came a voice from the car. Grantaire doubted for a moment. Quickly shaking off the nervousness that was trying to engulf him, he opened the door again. “Greetings, too,” Enjolras said with a slight smile, raised eyebrows and hands on the wheel.

“Hi,” Grantaire said as he sat in the passenger seat and tossed the backpack into the rear seats. “I’m sorry if the boys told you to pick me up. Which I don't understand at all, because nobody ever picked me up from the cell, and I don't understand why they would let you know, but they probably realized their speeches didn't apply to me. So they sent you. As a last hope.”

“I don't know if that was a praise, but thank you.” Enjolras waited for Grantaire to put his bell on, and get on the road. “But nobody knows.” Grantaire looked at Enjolras. He was fully focused on the road. “Marc called me.” Grantaire took a deep breath. “From the cell.” Enjolras specified. “He told me what happened. Or rather what you did to him.” Enjolras stopped at the traffic light and looked at Grantaire. “Why did you fight for me?”

“Because he said shits about you.” Grantaire had no plans to hide anything. When Marc called him, he knew absolutely everything. He refuses to lie to him. “I would do that for any of my friends. Don’t get your ego up. But… Like, if you could hear him.” Grantaire gritted his teeth. “Real dick.”

Enjolras just chuckled and started driving again. “You don't have to defend me, Grantaire.”

“But if you heard him!” Grantaire repeated a little more loudly.

“What did he say so interesting?” Grantaire looked out the window. Despite nothing of what Marc had said about him, the thought of telling him was unpleasant. He didn't want him to feel bad. “Don't you want to tell me?”

“It wouldn’t make anything better.”

Enjolras paused for a moment. “You're right.”

The rest of the drive went in silence. Grantaire stroked his bracelet absently.

**20.**

“Stop it,” Marius said, walking quickly of the stage where Courfeyrac stood, wiping his tears.

“I'm crying because of you, you bastard,” Courfeyrac said and slapped Marius’ shoulder. “I'm so happy for you.” With that, he jumped around Marius’s neck and hug him tightly.

“I wonder if he wants to marry me or Courfeyrac,” Cosette said as she watched her fiancé hugging his his best friend.

“You can't say it like that.” Grantaire said, handing her one of the colorful, sweet cocktails. “They belong together. You take one, you have to take the other. They're in one package.”

“You won't get rid of Courfeyrac anymore,” said Joly.

“A little like a tumor that can't be operated,” added Bossuet, and Joly nodded in agreement.

“You will scare her,” said Combeferre.

“Let’s take it from the other side,” Grantaire said immediately, looking at the guys on the stage. “Maybe they don't mind a threesome.” Cosette flushed all over, and the other boys kicked Grantaire’s feet under the table. He howled loudly and began to swear softly. Meanwhile, Courfeyrac and Marius came down from the stage, and Jehan spoke loud enough to overwhelm all of Grantaire's lamentations: “Who's going next?”

Today, after the meeting Marius announced to his closest friends a big news. He asked Cosette to marry him. As Cosette stood beside him, showing a silver ring with a white diamond, Courfeyrac began to cry and the others burst into enormous enthusiasm. Even Enjolras, who gave little weight to marriage, seemed a little enthusiastic. After a toast at the bar, they decided to all celebrate their engagement at the karaoke bar, where they have their first date. In the hour and a half they already spent on karaoke, they drank several cocktails, began to disassemble the wedding, and a couple of times some of them appeared on stage and showed their singing skills. Combeferre and his Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran won the biggest compliment. After his performance, only Courfeyrac, who enjoyed everyone with his comic performances and dances, allowed himself to perform on the stage.

“Cosette,” Enjolras said to a brunette who still had pink cheeks. “Shall we?” He held out his hand, which was immediately accepted.

“Oh my God, Enjolras, you'll sing?” Courfeyrac asked surprised when he finally wiped away his tears.

Enjolras just sighed. “Bride's wish.”

“I asked him as soon as we came here. I heard him humming once and singing something—”

“That's enough, Cosette,” Enjolras begged with a smile, and Cosette laughed. Together they went on stage and selected ABBA's Lay All Your Love On Me song, but adapted for a version for the  _ Mamma Mia! Musical _ . As soon as the first tones of the disco started, Enjolras tucked his head in his hands, and Cosette began to sway to the beat. “I'll regret it,” Enjolras said suddenly as he took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Holy cow,” Feuilly whispered to himself. “He’s really good. I didn’t know he could sing?” He looked at the others, who were also surprised to see the couple on the stage.

“I'm quite surprised by his English though,” Combeferre said, crossing his arms. “I remember when he read the word revolution as  _ rezolutajou _ ."

Bahorel nodded in admiration as they both began singing the chorus. “They’re pretty good.”

“They're amazing,” said Marius, whose eyes almost formed into hearts when he saw his sweetheart begin singing her solo verse, smiling in all directions, and her joy and enthusiasm shining.

“What do you think, Grantaire?” Joly asked, looking his friend. As soon as he looked at him, he just chuckled and focused on Enjolras and Cosette again.

Grantaire sat in his place, mouth slightly ajar. Enjolras on stage in pink and blue lighting, with pink face from shame, singing a disco song about love. Before he could recover, it was over. Enjolras looked around the room and smiled at him as soon as he saw Grantaire's gaze. He stepped off the stage and walked ahead of him. “Good?”

“Good,” Grantaire whispered softly and swallowed dry. He didn't even realize how attractive Enjolras was at that moment. How was it even possible that everything that this tall blond touched he was good to? Was it physically and mentally possible at all?

“Next time we can sing it together.”

Before Grantaire could respond, Enjolras started a conversation with Jehan. Courfeyrac returned to the podium and decided to score with the same song and dragged Feuilly beside him. Grantaire Rose from his seat and went out. He needed a cigarette. As quickly as possible.

**21.**

Grantaire has been friend with the Friends of the ABC for four years now. Despite what the association was doing and considered to be a member of, he did not like when they planned demonstrations. They seemed useless to him. He always tried to avoid them, though he didn't mind watching them from a distance. But since Enjolras almost die half year ago on one this stupid demonstration, Grantaire was willing to accompany them all the time.

Enjolras took it as a success and hope that Grantaire had finally understood their goal, which they had fought publicly for. Grantaire wasn't trying to explain or tell him, he’s absolutely wrong.

But everything was a little different today. The demonstration was calm. People behaved exemplarily, nobody wasted anyone unnecessarily, police even cooperated with demonstrators. The procession of people got from one point to another without damage, where a podium and a prepared speaker stand waited. Surprisingly, Combeferre was the first to speak. Though his words were powerful, his voice was aggressive and steadfast; something in his words was uplifting, and people didn't want to start a war on them. 

“Today is the most beautiful day I could have wanted. So let me be a little selfish and say a few words to someone special at the end,” Combeferre said and looked into the crowd. “Enjolras,” he said to his best friend, who stood beside Grantaire, watching him all the time. “I know you fought for this for a long time.” Behind Combeferre, a screen lit up showing a live broadcast from the House of Commons. There were three numbers in the corner. In green, yellow and blue color. Grantaire tried to figure out what it meant. “I know this means a lot to you.” Combeferre smiled and said with happy voice: “Today, for many of you, lives will change. Because you will be able to say to your precious half - Yes, I can marry you.” Enjolras blinked frantically, and Grantaire finally read the sign that hung over the voting board. “Today our government has allowed marriage to homosexual couples.”

Enthusiasm rushed through the crowd. Some were whistling. Others screamed with happiness. Some just nodded and said something under their breath. Others embraced each other. Some had tears in their eyes. Jehan jumped around Bahorel's neck, and he began to kiss him on the cheeks. Cosette and Marius gripped each other's hands and smiled at each other. In fact, Grantaire didn't really understand this general cheerfulness until he felt someone grab him around his shoulders and turn his back.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted brightly. “We did it!” Grantaire wanted to say something, but instead of words, he only got a faint groan. He felt pressure and softness on his lips.

Enjolras kissed him.

Grantaire was in shock. Time stopped suddenly. He fell into silence. He looked at Enjolras's closed eyes, his rows tickling a little on his nose, his hair falling to his forehead, and they seemed a little more blond at close range. His lips were soft, warm and large. He felt as if he had been swallowed up.

Enjolras pulled away from him and looked deep into his eyes. Grantaire opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Enjolras smiled at him, bit his lip and closed his eyes. He put his palms on his cheeks and leaned on him. “We did it,” he whispered again.

“I ... I ... did nothing.”

“You're here.” Enjolras protested, pushing himself closer to him. Grantaire felt his breath, smells like coffee and strawberries. “Here. Just that. That’s enough.” Enjolras opened his eyes and looked into Grantaire’s. They were only a few millimeters apart. Grantaire felt drowned in his dark blue eyes. “That you stand by me.”

The world around them stopped existed.

**22.**

Grantaire felt he hadn't slept for a good ten years. He rubbed his eyes constantly, yawning, feeling his body weak. Yet he couldn't sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Enjolras smiling before him, leaning toward him, kissing him. His heart pounded at the memory, and he had a terrible desire to drink. He always had to open his eyes, take a deep breath, walk around the room a few times to stop thinking about him. He sometimes ran his fingers over his lips. He still felt Enjolras’s lips on them.

Grantaire knew that it would be embarrassing when they meet next time. At least for him. Once they pulled away, Enjolras didn't look at him anymore. He disappeared somewhere with Combeferre in a few minutes, and he hadn't known anything about him since. He didn't call him, he didn't write him a message. He seemed to be avoiding him. “Clearly, it was just a action of blurred mind, Grantaire,” he told himself as he was looked at his reflection in the mirror and examined his lips. They seemed a little redder. “He would never touch you under normal circumstances.”

These feelings of enthusiastic, exalted, and full of hope with one damn, short kiss; immediately alternated with doubt and self-blame. He need a drink. Forget for a moment. Flush out everything that weighed him down.

His feet immediately led him to Musain. He didn't plan it. He always came here just to meet his friends, otherwise he'd rather be visiting Corinth, where he didn't see him now, or Maine, a sunken bar right next to the Law University, where he always flirted with naive students. He almost spat in annoyance when he noticed where he was. He was already pulling a cigarette out of his pocket to drive a rush of unwanted thoughts when he noticed something was wrong with Musain. He stared at the café for a while before he shuddered and said, “Shit.” With that, he opened the door to the café and entered. He turned and looked at the main shop window. “What the fuck happened here?” A few chairs were upside down, several tables damaged. There were shattered alcohol bottles, glasses, plates on the ground. Grantaire's image was sprayed with black color. The plasters on the walls were wet and peeled off.

“And you haven't seen the toilets, sir,” said the waitress sitting squatting on the ground, collecting shards of glass with one of the bartenders.

“We're definitely not opening today,” the owner said with sad eyes. His hands were leaning on the broom, trying to sweep away the broken plates and glasses. “Apparently we were lying in someone's stomach a lot.”

“This is not a competitive fight, hopefully.” Enjolras stood in the door leading to the toilets, carrying a trash can in his hand, carrying it all in the middle of the room. “Hi,” he said with a slight smile to Grantaire, and immediately looked at the owner. “Hopefully none of your competitors would do this.”

“I hope,” the owner said absently, continuing to clean up.

“Grantaire.” Grantaire turned to Enjolras, who pointed to the toilets. “Do you have time?” Grantaire just nodded and followed the younger one. As they reached the corridor, Enjolras turned to him and whispered, “I know it's not a competitive fight. This is ours fault.”

“Ours?”

“Look.” Enjolras checked to see if the others was watching them, then opened the closet next to the toilets. Instead of the sanitary supplies, there were stones. “I was just passing by when the bastards saw me.” Enjolras picked up the crumpled papers. “They tried to burn it down here.” He handed the papers to Grantaire. “They escaped. They were just a little boys.” Enjolras just shook his head. “They did dirty work for someone else. Someone didn't even have the courage to do it by himself.” He looked at Grantaire and gestured to look at the papers. “This was on the stones that broke the window.”

Grantaire examined all the papers. It were their posters. All were torn, scribed, sprayed. There were vulgar inscriptions. Grantaire just laughed. Why did anyone need to do this? The last paper was a printed photo. He and Enjolras. How they kissed. A week ago, on that damn demonstration that Grantaire couldn't stop thinking about. He didn't even know someone see them. A red inscription FUCKING FAGGOTS, DIE, was written over the photograph. “Fuckers,” he said loud enough to be heard on the street. “They can think whatever they want, but try to burn down a café where a bunch of people meet up against their business. Well, like, sorry for not having a fucking brain? What they were trying to prove? And this—,” Grantaire waved papers before Enjolras's face. „—Show to prove they're some fucking gang— Enjolras?”

Enjolras swallowed dry. It was only now that Grantaire had noticed his eyes glittering. “I don't understand how anyone can do this.” There was a regret in his voice. “When we started meet in Musain, I promised the owner that nothing like this would ever happen.” Enjolras smiled, lowered his head, and looked at the tips of his shoes. “I promised him nothing like that would happen.” Enjolras spread his arms around him, looking sadly. “That's what I caused.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered. “Look, don't do this to me.” Grantaire took a step closer to Enjolras and looked into his sad face. “I'm not good at this. I don't know what to say now. Joke? Or should I felt to the ground like in the stupid animated films?” Grantaire bit his tongue as he said it.

Enjolras just winked and walked over to Grantaire. “Stay here for a moment,” he said quietly, leaning on his shoulder. Grantaire straightened up and felt his heart pound. “Just stay here.” His hand stroked the older ones and intertwined with his fingers.

Grantaire had no idea how long they stood there. Maybe a few seconds, maybe just two minutes. But it seemed like eternity to him. The scent of strawberries and cinnamon flooded into his nose. He didn't,'understand how anyone, so charismatic and masculine, could smell so sweet. He could feel the heat that had flooded his entire body with only a small touch of his fingers. They were cold, long and bony. Just like in the hospital.

“Would you like to come to my flat?” Grantaire suddenly asked in a firm voice, and Enjolras pulled away from him. “I have some beer there, so we can talk or something.”

Enjolras didn't refused.

**23.**

“Here.” Grantaire handed Enjolras a cold beer. He just thanked him with a nod of his head and sat down on the floor beside the bed. He leaned his head against the mattress and placed one of the large, soft pillows on his laps. Grantaire sat close to him and also rested his head on the mattress. Immediately he opened his beer and practically ended it by one gulp. Enjolras looked at the ceiling and winked occasionally. “I can feel you thinking.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Incredibly,” Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras smiled beside him. “What's bothering your beautiful blond head?”

“Especially the Musain right now.” Grantaire just grunted. “I already talked with Combeferre and Feuilly via messenger. We decides to make a public fundraiser and ask all customers to help in the restoration of the café. I think enough people will join. Me and Jehan can talk to our families.” Grantaire remembered how Jehan had told him about his wealthy parents who used the money to traveling. They send letters, sometimes they call him or have skype conversation over the sea. He had a beautiful relationship with them, although they didn't really see each other. Unlike Jehan, Enjolras had not spoken of his family, it was only known that they were as rich as those of Jehan. “But it will take at least two months before the owner can open the café again.”

“Let's move this Fellowship of the Ring to another café.”

“That's not my point now, Grantaire. I'd rather help. More than with money. Maybe I'll be there after school to help. I can't leave Mister Labeuf alone. Not after he did everything for us.” Enjolras finally opened his beer and drank a little. When he swallowed, he frowned and grinned. “You have a pretty nasty beer.”

Grantaire laughed at his note and looked at his already finished bottle. “We, like a France, have a nasty beer.” He opened his fridge again and get a bass of beers in his hands. “But there's nothing you can do, Budweisser don't sell there and I will get another shelf next month. I have to put up with these pisses.” He put the bass of beers in front of them and sat back in his seat. “You were talking?”

“Will you join?”

“With repairs?”

“Yes.”

“Probably not. Don't take it wrong, Apollo. It's nothing against Musain or Labeuf, protect me by the hand of the Lord, you know very well that I won't let anyone touch this guy when he makes the best candies and cakes I know. But, me? And repair something? Like you want to knock it down and build something new? Clearly. At the demolition, Bossuet and I would be like a couple of twins. But working? No. I can't do that. It will be much more useful if I evaluate it from time to time, tell you how wrong all of you do it and we won't see each other for a few months.”

„Then you could at least paint walls there.”

“Apollo,” Grantaire said horribly, putting his hand on his chest. “I? A painter? An artist?” Enjolras just rolled his eyes and took a sip from his beer. “Sure. Maybe I can do that.”

“But you were right,” Enjolras said thoughtfully. “We really need to find a new place for a while.” Enjolras began to play with the label on the bottle and slowly peeled it down. “How about Corinth?”

Grantaire finished another bottle, placed it beside him and just chuckled. “They won't want to see me there.”

“Marc doesn't go there anymore.” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was still playing with the label on glass. “I met him a week ago.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire tried to ignore the burning sensation on his chest.

“If you wanted to have fun, you should go past the Sorbonne last week. He made a pretty scene before our biggest aula in university.” Enjolras finally looked at Grantaire and smiled unpleasantly at him. “When I finally pulled him to the bathroom, he really had a lot to say. Especially about you.” Grantaire looked away and took another sip. “He was talking about what happened in Corinth then. You didn't tell me when I bringed you home.”

“Is it already, how many, three months ago?” Three months, two days and seven hours. Grantaire remembered it exactly. “It's past.”

“Not for me, Grantaire.” Enjolras said with firm voice. “I know you defended me. Thank you. But why?”

“Because he was saying some craps.”

“That's very nicely said,” Enjolras laughed, taking a sip. “What did he say so interesting?”

“Does it matter?”

“Normally, no, but when it was about me, I want to--”

“Jesus, shit, all right! He said the same shit about you. Just that you treated him like an asshole and that you didn't want to fuck him and that bullshit like that you'd prefer to get your brain fucked out of your head to stop thinking about your fucking revolution and that you're not good for anything but watching. Satisfied?!” Grantaire realized after a moment that he was raising his voice. He even shouted the last sentence slightly. Enjolras looked at him a little frightened. Grantaire quickly retreated to his seat and drank. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Enjolras said, blinking a few times. “I'm glad I know.” With that, he put the unfinished beer down. Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who just smiled. “He said he didn't want to sleep with you so you fought.”

Grantaire sat up and grabbed Enjolras's shoulder. “Are you serious?” Enjolras just nodded. “He claimed I wanted to  _ rape _ him?”

“Well, not directly. He just said he needed to protect himself.”

“Well, that's the biggest dick I've ever met. Nothing against, but you have a really demented ex.”

“I know that too,” Enjolras said with a sad smile and looked at Grantaire. “Sorry. For having a fight. For having spent the night in jail.”

“It wasn't the first time,” Grantaire said proudly and finished another bottle. “And probably not the last."

“I wanted to…” Enjolras paused and bit his lip. He looked at his hands in his lap and played with his fingers. “I wanted to thank you. That you stood up for me. Protected me. Like a prince on a white horse.” They laughed at this comparison. “But you didn't have to.” Enjolras looked at Grantair and said quietly, “It's true.”

“Apollo, you need me to raise your ego? Well-”

“No, no,” Enjolras stopped him before the alcohol-boosted Grantaire put a monologue on how amazing he was. “I definitely don't think I’m useless. I know who I am, what I want to prove. I know that not everyone agrees with me, and I have no problem in condemning me, even publicly and loudly. I don't mind.” Enjolras shivered a little on the spot. He seemed reluctant to talk about this. “I didn't sleep with him.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you two been dated for more than a year?”

“A year and four months.”

“And you never…” Grantaire pointed out what activity he meant, and Enjolras just shook his head. Grantaire whistled. “Sorry. Inappropriate.”

“It’s okay, Grantaire, that’s a usual reaction. I am used to it.”

“Usual? As if you heard it all the time. You already with someone…” He paused a little. Enjolras stared at him. He understood. “Oh.”

“Exactly. Who would expect that?” Enjolras smiled and sighed.

“So you and Marc?” Enjolras shook his head. “You and someone else?” Again. “Wow, I just — wow.” Grantaire finished half his beer and reached for another. “Not to be noisy, but may I ask why? Look at you. You are handsome. Damn, I shouldn't drink anymore. But fuck it. Look at you! You're beautiful, young, smart, charismatic. What is stopping you?”

“Everything?” Grantaire blinked uncomprehendingly. “I know I can. Someday. Oneday. But I haven't found anyone to spend the moment with me so far.”

“Like, never ever?”

“Never ever.”

“Wow,” Grantaire whistled again, thinking this time. “Look, if that helps you,” he began, feeling his cheeks flush a little. “I'm not doing very well lately either. Like, sure, I'm a completely different league like you and I don't have that sort of choice, but I must say — it's really miserable.”

Enjolras just smiled. Grantaire tried to cheer him up. Although he may not have done so intentionally, and only alcohol spoke. He appreciated it. He felt comfortable with him. “Lately?”

“Three years,” Grantaire admitted immediately. Enjolras just looked at him. “What?"

“I'm just surprised,” Enjolras admitted. “You're still bragging about how you're with someone.”

“Bullshits and gossips,” Grantaire said, shrugging. “As if each of us did not. Do you really believe all the bullshit craps that Bahorel tell? After all, the boy looks like God over there from somewhere in Hawaii, but you still know quite clearly that he is warm like a mulcher in winter. Or Jehan? And his smug innocence, and  _ I-only-had-two-boys-and-one-girl-in-my-life _ ? The boy is an animal! As for Courfeyrac, he is lying so much about everything that he even believes it now. Apollo, you're not stupid.”

“I never really cared,” Enjolras admitted. “Because when I...hm…”

“You're not doing that.”

“I don't,” he repeated. “So I never paid attention.”

“Why?”

“I never wanted to have anything with Baho—”

“Why didn't you ever do that?”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire and took a deep breath. “I didn't felt just right with anyone. It may sound foolish to you. Especially after how long we've known each other. But actually it's kind of hard for me to find someone.”

„I'm sure you're giving them a questionnaire. First question — Do you love Robespierre? The second question — Can I cheat with Feuilly?”

“That's a old joke.” Enjolras flushed a little, and Grantaire couldn't stop laughing. Since he came among the Friends of ABC, he had seen the bond these two had with each other. They didn't spend so much time together and actually never talked much in the group, but they often wrote messages and talked at the bar in evening. Enjolras always turned pink when he talked to him. Courfeyrac called it a crush, Combeferre an admiration. Grantaire call the feeling on his chest when he saw them, jealousy. 

“Sorry, Apollo,” Grantaire laughed, deciding he wouldn't have another beer. “Keep going.”

“I need time before I start dating. Know them. Know who they are. What are their dreams? I need to feel that inner connection, a little tickling in the lower abdomen, feel good with them. Only then I will be able to discover deeper feelings. Usually it turns into love pretty fast enough, I can't control it so much. That's why I usually fall in love with friends or someone very close with whom I share the same intention.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So you must have ever been in love with someone from our group.” Enjolras just winked at him and nodded a little. “It’s Feuilly, right? Please tell me it’s him.”

“You will never use it against me.”

“I'll shit myself right now.”

“Please don’t.”

“So, you really have a crush!"

“I shouldn't have said that to you.”

“Oh no, you won't get out of it so easy! Who was next? Courfeyrac? No, it's a missile. Joly? He's pretty smart and handsome. But from what I saw last time, I think you're more like a brothers. Right? What about Combeferre?” Enjolras jumped a little. “Oh my God, Combeferre too!”

“Enough, Grantaire.”

“No, I'm sorry, but Combeferre? Combeferre?! The biggest straight guy among us!”

“I said I can't control it.”

“So what caught your attention on Marc? He's a piece of garbage.”

Enjolras just sighed. “I've known him since first year on university. He was always nice, kind, he knew how to behave. I always knew he liked me. But neither of us was trying to take that first step. I, because of what I told you now, Marc because he always had someone else. A year and a half ago however, we had to do a joint project together. Analyze the stupid course case with Oscar Wilde. It started with reading books, continued visiting theaters, writing messages from night to mornings and over time came the feeling I was waiting for. So I asked him if he would to date me. And here we are. After a year and a half without a partner and with just a few nice memories and many bad.”

“Bad?”

“We weren't a good couple, Grantaire.” Enjolras's gaze darkened a little. “He was bothered by my work and friends. I was annoyed by his jealousy and constant devotion to the family, who just pulled him down and used him. We were often on knives. A lot of couples solve it by reconciling in bed, I know at least from Joly and Bossuet, and kind of from the first months of college when I lived next to Courfeyrac. But whenever he came to me, I didn't feel it. We kissed, touched, I don't deny it. But I couldn't do more.”

Enjolras paused and finally drank his beer. Grantaire pushed himself away from the mattress and touched Enjolras's shoulder, his hand down a little and touched his elbow. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Enjolras said with a smile. „Should it?”

“From what you tell me, it's pretty intimate for you.” Grantaire looked into Enjolras's blue eyes, which were beautifully dark and glittered a little. “I want to understand it a bit.”

“It's all right. I feel great.”

“Me too.”

For two good hours they drank beer, looked into each other's eyes, talked about everything and touched their hands.

**24.**

“Hand a little higher. Yeah, just like that. Now push that leg a little towards me. Towards me. I say towards me! Jesus, you’re just a horrible model, Apollo.” Grantaire bit his brush between his teeth and helped Enjolras turn his leg exactly as he needed to. He adjusted a scarf around his neck and a laurel wreath in his hair. “Perfect,” he whispered rather to himself, and hurried to the canvas rack. He took white, gold, red, and blue in his hand and began mixing them on a wooden pedestal.

“The boys looks amazing,” Enjolras commented as he looked around the studio. The dried pictures of his friends had already been painted on the walls, which Grantaire had painted as Greek Gods for his graduation work. Courfeyrac like Poseidon, Jehan like Erós, Feuilly like Héfaistos, Joly like Asklépios, Bossuet like Arés and Bahorel like Hermés. The only one left was Enjolras, who had finally found time in his busy calendar after two weeks, and Combeferre, who had enjoyed the art, but it was hard enough to even photograph him, let alone make him a model.

“Can you stand that way for five, six hours in a row?” Grantaire asked as he slid a small chair to the rack and dipped the brush in one of the colors.

“Sure,” Enjolras confirmed, putting his chin a little higher. “Paint me as one of your French girls.”

“Oh my God, don’t tell me you just quoted the Titanic right now?”

Their common laughter echoed through the studio.

**25.**

Marius knelt in front of the toilet bowl, which he hugged with both hands, alternately shouting the sentences _ “I will never drink again.” _ with _ “I don't know if I want to marry her.” _ and vomited; beside him was Courfeyrac kneeling against the tub, who muttered something about the rights of the people and the attempt to allow polygamous marriage, and also vomited into the tub. Joly sat at Courfeyrac and Combeferre at Marius, both patrolling, stroking their backs, giving them a drink, and occasionally laughing at their drunken chatter. Bossuet and Bahorel in the living room played a video game from the Barbie world and drank vodka every time she said  _ „Ken _ .”. Feuilly, as one of the few sober people, was sitting on the couch reading  _ „Above Niemno” _ by Eliza Orzeszkow, while Jehan was styling his hair with flowers. Enjolras and Grantaire sat on the balcony, drinking whiskey. Grantaire smoked a joint and decided to count all the stars while Enjolras looked at his camera and examined all the pictures he took in the day.

“That's how every bachelor party should end,” Grantaire said contentedly. “Wonderful.”

“We don't have a picture together.”

Grantaire turned to the blond man next to him who was frowning at the camera display. “Like everyone together?”

“We have a lot of them. I mean two of us.”

“Well, the one at the right beginning? Of all of us?”

“No, I mean  _ just _ the two of us.” Enjolras stood and squatted beside Grantaire. He put the camera over them and showed Grantaire to smile at him. He listened without a word. “Great,” Enjolras commented immediately, smiling. “We finally have a photo together.” He stood and opened the door to the room. “I'll send it to you when I get home. I guess I'll put it on my phone wallpaper. It’s beautiful.” With that, he walked into the room, leaving Grantaire on the balcony itself.

Grantaire tried to say his heart was pounding because of the smoked grass.

**26.**

Grantaire took one glass of champagne from the trays, adjusted his black suit and walked to the table where his friends were already sitting and discussing loudly. “What's the topic?” Grantaire asked as he sat next to Joly, who was watching an arguing pair of lovers.

“Who will be home with kids after wedding.”

“And who’s winning?”

“Jehan. I really have the feeling that Bahorel will be persuade to stay at home with kids.”

Before the discussion could turn somewhere else, the most important woman of the evening went to their table. Cosette, in a gorgeous white dress, flowers in her hair, and a bright smile on her face, hugged each of Marius's friends as if she had known them since she was a child. “Are you having fun?” She asked everyone with worry and they nodded.

She talked with them for only five minutes when Bossuet rushed to them from somewhere and in his uncomfortable, old gray suit. “May I?” He asked gallantly, bowing. Cosette just laughed and accepted his hand. She and Bossuet walked to the dance floor, slowly swinging to the beat.

“I want to dance too,” Joly whined, pursing his lips a little.

“Come on, my dear,” Musichetta told him in her gorgeous, fitting, red dress and pulled him right next to Bossuet and Cosette, who were all laughing.

“How about us?” Courfeyrac asked Combeferre beside him, who just looked at him with a condemnation, rose from his seat and walked away. “Feuilly?” He turned to the other side, but saw only his back as he walked in the same direction as Combeferre. “Oh, come on!” Courfeyrac protested, hurrying after them.

Jehan and Bahorel just glared at each other and sighed softly. “We'll solve it at home,” Bahorel finally decided as he stood up and with Jehan attend the dance floor. “But you promise we will really talk about it!” Jehan said with hope in his voice. Bahorel smiled at him, kissed him, and whispered something so softly that only his beloved could hear him. He smiled sweetly at him and kissed him again. Everything was fine now. 

Grantaire stared at his friends, who were slowly swaying to the rhythm and sipped from his glass. “Why aren't you dancing?” Enjolras asked curiously as he sat beside Grantaire with a glass of red wine.

“Not with whom.”

Enjolras looked around them. “I see plenty of free girls and ladies. Even a boy who's been looking at you for a good fifteen minutes.” He pointed at him inappropriately until the boy blushed and buried his nose in the wedding menu.

“I'm not interested.” Grantaire finished his champagne and tried to catch strawberry on the bottom of glass. “Not with whom I want.”

Enjolras grunted, watching Grantaire catching a strawberry from a glass for a moment before standing up and putting his hand in front of his friend. Grantaire finally caught the strawberry and put it in his mouth. He looked at Enjolras in surprise, his mouth buzzing, but Enjolras just rolled his eyes. He took Grantaire's elbows and helped him to his feet, dragging him to the middle of the dance floor next to Joly and Musichetta, who immediately looked at them. “I will lead,” Enjolras said as soon as he took Grantaire with one hand at his and intertwined their fingers, while the other embraced him around his hips. Grantaire buried his nose in Enjolras's chest and put one hand awkwardly on his shoulder. He felt his whole body burning in fire. He couldn't even breathe. He had to close his eyes to stop his head from spinning.

From then, A Thousand Years was his favorite song.

**27.**

Grantaire reached the sixth floor of his apartment building and leaned against the railing. “This will kill me,” he whispered, wiping his sweaty brow. It had been two months since the elevator broke down throughout the apartment building and the owner still don't repair it. His professor gave him the studio six months ago and agreed to work for his gallery after school. He would sleep there, but the studio was under reconstruction right now. “Just my luck,” he said to himself as he pulled the keys from his pants pocket and walked to his door. His apartment was open. “I forgot to lock the door?” He shoved into the door, which creaked a little. The room was dark. He put the keys on the shelf next to the door, took off his shoes, and went into the living room. As soon as he appeared between the doors, the light came on and his friends greeted him with a loud scream, “Happy birthday!”

“Fuckers! Be glad I didn't bring that pepper next to the mirror like I wanted. You all would be dead right now!” Grantaire tried to sound angry, but he couldn't deny that he was really surprised. He almost forgot his birthday. He hadn't celebrated them since he moved to Paris. That was almost seven years ago. Joly and Bossuet were the only ones who knew when he was born. After the first year of their friendship, they bought him a cake and gifts. However, he immediately informed them that he didn't like his birthday. The guys have respected it ever since. But now they both ran to him and hugged him tightly. They told him something, maybe they wished him happy birthday, maybe they just laughed with him, but Grantaire didn't get it. His eyes wandered around the room, which was decorated with colorful balloons, on the table was a chocolate cake with one lighted candle, and there was rum smell all around the room. 

“Happy birthday,” Jehan said, kissing him at each cheek. “Before I wish you, I must tell you from Bahorel that he wishes you the worst and looks forward to kicking your ass again.” Bahorel was in the hospital after some amateur boxing match. He looked good now, but his X-rays and his broken leg say otherwise. He hated hospitals. Jehan tried to spend as much time with him in there as he could. “He cursed like a old lady when he wasn't allowed to go home for your party. And I have to tell you from Enjolras that he will come a little later.” Enjolras found a job right after Marius’s wedding with Cosette. He started working for a law firm dealing with civil courts. Enjolras started like a boy who delivered letters and coffees to others lawyers, but very shortly he became one of the main lawyers on court as a expert for civil rights. The boys practically saw him only at the meetings of their revolutionary group. Enjolras sometimes wrote message to their group chat, but he started to be little far from others. Grantaire would have know he couldn’t take the time to celebrate. Though he couldn't deny that the first thing he noticed was the fact that Enjolras wasn't there. It stabbed his heart, but he tried to drink it with the first shot of rum Courfeyrac handed him.

“To our court lover of women and men, to a philosopher without a hint of judgment, and to the best drinker among us. May your liver continue to serve you, your loose sponge, and your brain, inventing the worst jokes we've ever heard. Cheers!” Everyone drank their shots to ex.

“Excuse me,” whispered Marius, who immediately turned green and sprinted into the bathroom.

“Obviously he still can't forget the bachelor party,” Combeferre said as he dropped the small glass on the table and followed Marius into the bathroom.

Grantaire put down his glass and clapped his hands. “So, where do I have the presents?” Although Grantaire meant it as a joke, he was surprised when everyone picked up a box. “I'm kidding.”

“No, you will unpack it all in front of us.” Courfeyrac sayed enthusiastically and jumped in front of him. He gave him a tight, yellow T-shirt that reads  _ „It will be a legen—wait for it—dary.” _ “Because you love that stupid boring show.”

“The show is my precious, so I'll hear another bad word about it and I’ll throw you out.” Courfeyrac just rolled his eyes and hugged him tightly. Feuilly gave him a limited edition of Greek Mythology (“I wait for you to paint me again, I really enjoyed it.”), Jehan gave him handmade dream catcher (“I know about your problems with insomnia and bad dreams, this will help you alot. Believe me.”), Bossuet gave him vitamins in shapes of dinosaurus (“You look at them every time we go next to pharmacy. I just couldn’t resist!”), Bahorel sent via Jehan a new pair of boxers gloves (“They're ergonomically better. Don't ask me more, I know anything about it.”). Combeferre and Marius returned from the toilet after a while and received a bottle of whiskey (“I know you don't drink that much anymore, but there will certainly be some great opportunity to drink a good whisky.”) and Marius just pointed at the cake (“Take more much time than I expected! **”** ). Joly chuckled as he handed Grantaire a blue box. “I don't like your smile.”

“Just open it.”

“If anything pops up and I get a heart attack, you stupid doctor…!"

“Just open it.”

“I really don't like that,” Grantaire said firmly, slowly pulling the whole package out of the box. He examined it from all sides. Joly still chuckled. He noticed that Bossuet pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started shooting. They must have invented some foolishness together and they will have fun for the rest of their lives. “I really don't like it,” he said again, slowly opening the box. On one of the lids he noticed the inscription of the company that sent the product to him. “Well, I really, really, really don't like it.” There was a black cloth in the box that Grantaire had uncovered for a second and immediately closed the box. “You are assholes.”

“Come on, show us,” Joly encouraged, starting to cover his smile.

“Go ahead, Taire,” Bossuet said as he walked to him, turning his cell phone directly in front of him.

“Really?” Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Hey, what is in?” The others began to ask, and they ran past Grantaire, who finally opened the box and showed it to everyone.

“Jesus,” Feuilly laughed, and said something in Polish, according to tone probably a curse.

“I didn't know you like these kind of things,” Jehan said in surprise and uncovered the cloth a little so he could see the object inside.

“Or such shapes and sizes,” laughed Courfeyrac, sitting beside Jehan to see the object well.

“Or those colors,” Combeferre said, standing behind Grantaire. He leaned closer to him and said seriously, “I thought you hated purple.”

“You're real assholes,” Grantaire grumbled, but still smiled. “Do you really think I'm going to use this?”

“I kind of guess you're more like the one enjoying it, well, uh,  _ be good for someone _ ," Joly laughed. “I had chat with Musichetta and Bossuet that we didn't know what to give you. And we know how much you miss a some nice boy to warm your bed. So we bought you something that could make up for it.” Bossuet stopped shooting because his hand was shaking with laughter.

“So you decided to buy me a vibrator.”

“Happy birthday,” Joly laughed, leaping around Grantaire's neck. “Will you show us how you use it?”

“Joly!”

“Now dance!” Ordered Courfeyrac, turning on the music. Together with the others, they placed a side table in the middle of the room and began to wave into rhythmic music. Everyone decided to invite Grantaire for one private dance. Courfeyrac got more touchy that Grantaire liked and Jehan couldn’t believed he had no idea how to dance Macarena.

The fun started. Someone danced, someone drank, someone ate a lot. They all joked and talked over each other. They kept returning to Joly's gift, which amused everyone. By midnight Grantaire could feel his legs and head aching. “I need some air," he announced, and without waiting for an answer, he went to the balcony, where he was immediately greeted by the cold air. He cooled his hot cheeks, his sweaty hair, and his wet clothes. He hadn't even noticed that he was sweating so much. He leaned his elbows on the railing and took a deep breath. He was still smiling. He took a cigarette from his trouser pocket and lit one quickly.

Once he pulled the smoke inside his lung, the balcony door opened. “May I join you?” Bossuet asked, shivering a little under the wind. “Ugh, freaking cold,” he said immediately, taking a cigarette from Grantaire. “Hey, the gift from us—”

“I haven't laughed that much for so long,” Grantaire said truthfully, smiling even more. “I take it that you just want me to keep myself healthy without having to go around for one night stands and just get myself in trouble. Sexually transmitted diseases are no joke. ”

“I see, Joly talked to you.”

“Since he had a practice in rehab, he has been unstoppable. Did he also give you a condoms as a gift under the tree?”

“And a brochure about how risky anal sex is.”

They both laughed, blew out the haze of smoke, and watched the full moon. The stars were hardly visible today, but the moon was so bright that everything looked like a silver. “Thanks,” Grantaire said quietly, surprising himself of how fragile he sounded. “Thanks for all this.” He looked at Bossuet, who was looking at him. “For what you have prepared for me.”

“You're welcome,” Bossuet said immediately, tossing the butt of the cigarette off the balcony. He waited until it hit the sidewalk and walked to the door that led back to the room. “But we're just following orders.” Grantaire looked at him questioningly. “This was Enjolras's idea. A month ago, he began to talk about how much important thirty birthdays is. In spare time, after meetings, in his work, he messaged us about how we gonna celebrate it, what to buy, and he was terribly afraid someone would tell you. He was slowly getting over our nerves.” With that, Bossuet walked in and joined Joly and Feuilly, who danced together.

Grantaire was still on the balcony for twenty minutes. He still had to think about what Bossuet had told him. All of this was prepared for him by Enjolras. For real? As soon as he thought of him, he began to remember everything. Their discussions, occasional quarrels and nudging, how Enjolras laughs at his historical jokes. How Enjolras bought his painting, how he stood like a model for him, commenting on each of his exhibitions, sending him articles by critics who rated his paintings. He remembered how they embraced in Musain, chatted at his home, and drank beer. How Enjolras kissed him. His firm, soft, hot lips. Just like the body, back in the sauna.

Grantaire shook his head. “Don't think about it, you  _ pig _ ,” he said, tossing the butt of cigarette into one of the pots and clapping his cheeks with his hands. “Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think about him,” he repeated over and over, then looked at his crotch. “You too, okay?” He admonished his pride wrapped inside his trousers with a warning finger and returned to his friends.

One in the morning they all began to leave. Feuilly escorted the drunken Jehan home, Combeferre complained that he was waiting for a big exam he hadn't studied at all (but everyone knew he would succeed as always), Courfeyrac danced and sang so loud that Grantaire heard him from the end of the street, Marius talked with sleepy Cosette via phone as he left, and Joly and Bossuet held him in their arms for a good ten minutes until they leave.

Grantaire returned to the empty room, but didn't feel alone. He could still smell the smell of his friends, the warmth of the atmosphere that filled the living room and made him constantly smiling. Grantaire decided to finish his last beers. He turned on the TV, crossed the empty bottles, and settled down on the couch.

When he was drinking the third beer, someone knocked. Grantaire looked at the door as if he could see who was behind them. Reluctantly, he rose and opened the door. When he saw Enjolras behind them, he stopped. “Hi,” said the blonde. He had circles under his eyes and his shoulders were slightly drooping. He wore an expensive suit, his tie a little loose. It seemed he’s going straight from work. “Did everyone leave?” He asked worriedly as he looked over Grantaire's shoulder into the apartment.

“Yeah, we're done, like, for, thirty minutes.” Grantaire finally said as he overcame the initial shock.

“So I missed it, damn.” Enjolras scratched his thick, restless hairs and just sighed. “The court was three hours longer that normal, then the paperworks. I'm sorry.” He blinked a few times. He looked really tired. “Well then, good night, birthday boy.”

“Wait,” Grantaire said, walking out the door. “Do you want something? There's a cake left by Marius. Or coffee. You look like a train has run over you.”

“So bad?” Enjolras laughed.

“You always look great.” Enjolras looked questioningly at Grantaire, who took a quick breath and added, “But that doesn't mean you sometimes look like you have been run over by a train.” He can do better jokes. But he was too surprised to think of some insult. “Come in.” He and Enjolras walked into his apartment, boiling hot water in the kitchen, and pulled his favorite blue elephant mug from his cupboard. “Did you come here just after work?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, looking around the room. “Don't you want to help clean up?”

“Come on, I will let it rot and I hope the legs will grow and walk away.”

“Depending on the cake, it won't take long.”

“Yeah, Marius didn't do that well,” Grantaire laughed as he walked over to Enjolras and looked at the remains of the cake on the table. “Which is really weird when you think about his baking ability.” Enjolras just shrugged, and they stood silently beside each other. “Why did you do that? The party?”

“I think thirtieth are a pretty important to celebrate. I know you don't celebrate your birthday, but now it’s with whom. Although I designed it, but the boys immediately joined the planning. You should have seen what they came up.”

“I see. Burnt cake, infantile balloons, adornment both to celebrate the fifth birthday of the little girl who loves My Little Ponny and Barbie. You agreed to make me disgusted, didn't you?” Enjolras just nodded and laughed even more. “You’re bastards.”

“Why do you complain, I thought you didn't like birthdays anyway.”

“But I'm thirty!” Once he said it, he scowled and frowned. “Ugh, dude, thirty. This is terrible. I'm old.” Enjolras inhaled that he would say something. “Don't try to say I'm young or in my best years.” Enjolras said nothing. “It was great.” His eyes rested on the box Joly and Bossuet had given him. He forget to hide it. Neither try it.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked worriedly. “You're all red.”

“Nothing,” Grantaire said immediately, looking away but Enjolras already looked at the box. He laughed. “What?”

“They really gave you that?” Enjolras waited a moment if Grantaire would say something. “The purple vibrator?”

“You knew about it?!”

“Yeah,” Enjolras laughed from his heart, and his tears almost spilled. “Joly came up with it one in the morning a week ago, probably a bit drunk, and wrote it in a conversation where we were talking about what kind of present we will gave you. And seems like Joly stayed with the idea.”

“I believe you all supported it.”

“Especially Bahorel and Combeferre.”

“Combeferre?!”

“You have no idea what kind of person he is,” Enjolras laughed and looked at Grantaire, who was still blushing. “He look like one of the protector who will always help you, but he always like to be part of stupid and funny things. Not actively, but from behind, knowing about everything.”

“You're really the worst friends I could find.”

“You bet,” Enjolras said with a laugh, and Grantaire just shook his head. They paused again, and Enjolras stopped laughing. “Did they done what I told them?”

“Dance together?”

“I take it as a yes”

“Why, for God's sake, did you make our friends dance with me?”

“Because you seemed to like it. When we danced together at Cosette and Marius' wedding.” Grantaire looked into Enjolras's blue eyes. “You clung on me.” Enjolras took a step closer to the black haired man, whose legs trembled. “Your heart was pounding. Like mine.” Grantaire remembered it. When he let his nose dig into his chest, he could heard the pounding. “We liked to dance. Together. Aren't I right?”

“You are,” Grantaire admitted, and walked over to Enjolras. “So, will we... dance again?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Grantaire turned off the TV and turned on the radio. Classical music began to flow through the flat. Enjolras turned Grantaire face to face, grabbing him with one hand on his side, the other by the hand, and slowly began to swing in rhythm with him. Grantaire put one hand on his shoulder and tried to concentrate on his footsteps. He used to dance competitively, know the steps of all classical dances by heart, but with Enjolras he felt like an amateur. His legs fluttered and his hands shook. He tried not to perceive Enjolras' gaze that burned him. He looked at his chest and examined the pattern on his tie. Unlike the dance at the wedding, where they clung to each other and Grantaire could enjoy the dance to the full, they now had a gap between them and both could watch each other.

“Let yourself be guided,” Enjolras said gently. “I can do that.”

“Me too,” Grantaire protested, looking at Enjolras. He looked at him with a dark look he had never seen before. It completely dried up in his throat. He gave it to all the beers he drank. “Where's my present?” He blurted out suddenly as he felt his knees sagging, thinking of just how bad it would be to kiss Enjolras right now.

“What?” Enjolras laughed, releasing the strange, tense atmosphere between them.

“Everybody gave me something,” Grantaire said firmly, glad that his voice, at least, wasn't shaking. “So I hope you have something for me Apollo.”

“I hope so,” Enjolras said, pausing. He dropped Grantaire's hand and hip and pointed at his wrist. Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt button and rolled up his sleeve. Under it was a black bracelet with gold trim. He looked exactly like — Grantaire immediately looked at his wrist and examined the bracelet he wore. They were the same. “When I ordered it for you it came in pairs.” Enjolras ran his finger over the gold trim. “I found it right. As if they knew it would be for us.” Grantaire paused above the word  _ „us” _ and looked into Enjolras's eyes. He was still touching his bracelet. “It seemed to me… as if to suggest something I should have done long ago. I didn't understand a lot of things at the time. What the mind and heart told me. I tried to think rationally and not to act stupid.”

“Stupid?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“Stupid,” Enjolras repeated. “I was glad we were friends. We didn't have it easy from the start. We both have to admit that. But after we saw each other at that Christmas party... something changed in me, Grantaire. Combeferre recognized it,” Enjolras laughed gently, blushing a little. “We talked about it. For long time. Often. He was trying to help me know what to do next. But I was afraid to give in to those feelings. I was afraid to destroy what was happening between us by what was happening in my body. I just tried to see you as a friend and not try to say anything more.”

“What more?” Grantaire took a few deep breaths. “Enjolras, You’re trying to tell me…”

Enjolras didn't respond and continued, “And then I met Marc. Well, we've known each other for long thank to school. I told you already. But I know I tried to push you out. It wasn't right, I admit. But at first it worked. The more I was with him, the more I forgot about you, and when we saw each other you were just my talented, handsome and very witty friend.” Grantaire felt his ears burning. It always happened when someone praised him. “But then I saw these bracelets. In a shop on a trip in Provence. I couldn't resist, I found the store online and ordered the bracelet. Something about it reminded me of you. And when it came in pair... I was actually excited. Because what I was doing with Marc, what I was trying to feel and build with him was a lie. I've been carrying it since it came. In my backpack, in my wallet, I sometimes had it on my wrist. When I went to pick you up from jail, or at that bachelor party. I tried to show you. Maybe suggest something. To show what I mean.”

Enjolras paused and looked at Grantaire, who walked closer and grabbed his elbows. “Enjolras,” he whispered his name, looking deep into his eyes. “All this time, you was trying to tell me that you... l…”

“I like you,” he said, adjusting one of the black curls to Grantaire's forehead. “I can't say…  _ That _ . I know what I feel is deep. But I'm afraid to admit it might be love.” Grantaire took a wheezing breath. Did he really say the word? “I want to know if its possible. If what I feel is strong enough for both of us to… be able to get what we want,” Enjolras whispered, stroking Grantaire's face. “I don't want to hurt you. Not even myself.” He looked into his eyes. “That's why I told you back then those thing about me. With relationships, with love, with everything. I will not give up my dream, I do not know what will grab me for the ideas I want to realize. I don't know if I will ever be able to have you how you want and desire. ”

“Enough, Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered, grabbing his hand, stroking his face. With that he grabbed his tie and forced him to bow. “Enough.” He waited for nothing and kissed him.

**28.**

Grantaire had no idea how they got out of the living room into his bedroom, but he began to realize it only when Enjolras pushed him to the bed and forced them to sit down. They leaned sideways on the head of the bed, hands on their hips, slowly rubbing their lips together. When he felt Enjolras's tongue on his lower lip, he immediately opened his mouth and let him examine the inside. His tongue was soft and sweet. Grantaire moved one hand to his neck and stroked him slightly. Carefully. As if afraid that Enjolras would break up at any moment.

Enjolras kissed him for a good five minutes before he pulled away. He leaned on his forehead and tried to catch his breath. His lips were read and wet and his hands grabbed Grantaire's cheeks. “What are you doing to me?” He asked breathlessly.

“I should ask you the same,” Grantaire laughed in surprise, and they looked at each other. “It's alright? Back then, as you said…”

“It's alright,” Enjolras said firmly. „I want it,” he whispered excitedly, a chill running down Grantaire's back. “What I said… I feel it. With you. It was impossible with Marc. But with you—”

“No,” whispered Grantaire, pulling away from Enjolras a little. “Don't say his name. Don't think of him. Not now. Please.”

“I'll never say his name again. I promise.”

Grantaire placed Enjolras on the bed, put one of his pillows under his head, and sat astride his hips. He didn't want to hear anything. Enjolras understood this. Grantaire leaned his elbows beside his head and began stroking his fingers in his thick hair. His lips sucked on his again and began to kiss them hungrily. He could feel the wet saliva between their lips and the excitement that absorbed them. His tongue explored everything inside. Beautifully ordered teeth, sharply canines, sweet taste. Enjolras ducked his head to inhale and clenched his lower lip. Grantaire groaned weakly and rubbed against Enjolras’s body under it. Enjolras stroked the bite of his tongue and ran it a few times. Immediately after that, he began to kiss him with the same greed as the older one had.

Enjolras' hands began to examine the body above him. He stroked Grantaire's shoulders, shoulder blades, crosses, slid a little lower, and stroked his firm thighs. He then pointed his hand toward his round ass. He moaned into their hot kiss as motivation for Grantaire to move a little. Grantaire obeyed him and sat on his thighs so that they crotches touched. Enjolras then moved his hands to his hips and slowly began to pull up his black shirt. “Wait,” Grantaire whispered, pulling his shirt back down. “Everyone has something, right?” Enjolras looked at him blankly, still trying to catch his breath. Grantaire sat on him and put his hands on his chest. “I don’t have great body. You have a great body. I remember it since we were in that fucking sauna. You don't even know what it did to me then.”

“But I know,” Enjolras whispered with a smile, his hands stroking Grantaire's thighs. “When you left, I thought you were sick. So I wanted to go check on you. Instead…” He moved his hands to his crotch and pushed a little. He could feel the bulge forming beneath his trousers. Grantaire groaned and Enjolras bit his lip. “It was because of mě, right?”

“Yes,” Grantaire whispered, lifting himself up a bit to rub against his hands again. “I think about it all the time. When I'm alone, even when I'm with you, even when I'm out with friends. I can't stop thinking about it.” He closed his eyes and began to rise rhythmically to rub against Enjolras' hand.

“Good to hear that,” Enjolras said truthfully, moving one hand to Grantaire's side. He stroked him gently and stroked his trouser hem with his finger. He asked nothing, just looked at the older one who looked at him and nod his head. If they were both prepared, there was no reason to waste time.

Enjolras unbuttoned Grantaire's trousers and stroked him over the white boxers. They were already wet. Beautifully encircling the entire length of his penis. Enjolras licked his lips with tongue and whispered. “One day, I promise, I will lick it with my tongue.” Grantaire groaned and closed his eyes. “Not now, not in a month, but once. Seriously.” He ran his fingers along the length, enjoying the twitching and beginning for more attention.

Enjolras waited no longer. He pulled his boxers and pants under his ass. Grantaire groaned as he felt the cold air touch his pride. “God,” Enjolras whispered, stroking him in entire palm. “You're the biggest I've ever saw.”

“And you will ever see.” Grantaire whispered. “Don't expect to see someone’s else. Never.” He fell on his elbows again and began to kiss him hungrily. “Enjolras, please,” he whispered. “Please make me come.”

He didn't have to say it twice.

Enjolras put his hand in front of his mouth, spat in it, and immediately moved back to his pride. His cold saliva contrasted with his hot cock that was stroked by the entire length. At first gently, long, pulled the foreskin as if Enjolras was afraid he would hurt him. But after a while, he accelerated his movements. His fingers felt the swollen veins and the roughness he felt along the length. “Can I touch you? Please tell me I can touch you,” Grantaire whispered eagerly.

“No,” Enjolras whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “Not yet.” He kissed his lips again, then pulled away from him. Hand movement slowed a little. “I want to make you happy. That's the most important thing for me. Now. And then again. And again.” He kissed his lips with each passing word. “Then, when I know we're both happy, then sometimes we can try it for me. But now…” He leaned to his ear, caressing his lobe with his tongue. “I want only you.”

Then neither spoke. Enjolras was constantly accelerating the movement of his hand, the other starting to play with his testicles and kissing him so hungrily that Grantaire's eyes were spinning. Grantaire moaned, spoke occasionally, constantly rubbing against Enjolras. He felt a lump in his trousers pushing him into his thigh. He was tormented by the fact that he couldn't touch him. At least his hand tried to indicate how much he wanted it. But Enjolras always stopped him and moved his hand back to his neck, face, or hair. Grantaire tugged at them experimentally once, and Enjolras groaned so loudly that Grantaire smiled. He tugged at his curls, unable to get enough of his loud groans, and felt Enjolras rising up on his sides.

“Wait,” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire obeyed him. “Sit on me, straight back, relax.” Grantaire listened again, and the mattress underneath fell slightly. “Right, okay,” Enjolras whispered breathlessly, holding his T-shirt over his belly button with his left hand for a beautiful view of his cock, and wetting his right again with saliva. “Great,” he whispered rather to himself, quickly stroking him. Grantaire put his hands on his thighs and moaned helplessly.

Enjolras joined him after a moment. Grantaire thought only of his touch, but when he saw Enjolras's face twisted with excitement, he paused for a moment. He had so much fun that he had completely forgotten what Enjolras was doing. He stood up on his hips and rubbed his crotch against his ass. “Enjolras.”

“No, don't stop,” Enjolras whispered, forcing him to lift himself up a bit and sit down again. “Do what you did before. Please.” What kind of lover Grantaire would if he didn't comply his wish? But this time Grantaire couldn't close his eyes. He had to look at him. His hair was glued to his forehead. Enjolras stroked him so tightly, so wet,  _ so good;  _ that Grantaire wondered how often he jerk himself off at home. Enjolras alternately closed and opened his eyes, smiling, moaning. He looked like an ethereal being. He even sounded like that.

“Damn,” Grantaire whispered to himself. “Shit, shit, shit.” He groaned a few times and managed to make a loud voice. “I will, Enjolras, I can't, I’m gonna…” Enjolras put his shirt up and bit it between his teeth. Grantaire had a look at his elaborate abdomen, his shaved chest, and — God, he had a nipple piercing again. He probably never took it off. Enjolras made a few quick moves and Grantaire sprayed all of his came on Enjolras's stomach and chest. Enjolras stopped his hand and Grantaire groaned deeply. “God, god, damn, shit…” Enjolras just laughed at his futile moan.

Grantaire, however, quickly woke up and bent back to Enjolras. This time his mouth focused on his pierced nipple. He ran his tongue over it and bit it gently. “Grantaire, you don't have to, please.”

“Shut up, for once, please let me finish you. Please. Just for now. Shut up.” With that, he began to lift his hips again, teasing his nipple with his mouth. In a moment, it hardened in his mouth. Enjolras tilted his head, revealing all his swollen veins on his neck. His fingers dug into Grantaire's hips and helped him to raise himself to feel the greatest friction.

“Grantaire,” he whispered softly, but by then the older of them had kissed him, and Enjolras strained. Grantaire hugged him heavily and stuck his ass to his crotch as much as he could. “Yes... yes…,” he whispered to himself, leaning on Grantaire's body.

They were in an embrace, breathing loudly, trying to find their voices

“Grantaire?”

“Yes?”

“I'm still waiting for the coffee.”

They both laughed softly and kissed.

**29.**

It was three in the morning when they finally decided it was time to sleep.

Grantaire rose and made the promised coffee to Enjolras while Enjolras took a shower. After the shower, he embraced him from behind and pressed him against his naked body as he kissed his neck. Grantaire immediately fell for his kisses and kissed so long that Enjolras's coffee became cold.

Enjolras went to bed when Grantaire decided to take a quick shower. By the time he returned to the bedroom, Enjolras was asleep. On the back, one hand under the head, legs spread, duvet only over the lower body. Grantaire walked carefully to him and lay quietly on the other side of the bed. “No, come here,” Enjolras whispered half-asleep, pulling Grantaire in his arms.

Grantaire listened to his calm breath for a moment. He put his chin on his chest and stroked his pink cheeks with his fingers. For a moment he lay quietly with him until he laughed and said quietly:

“I love you.”

Finally, after five years, he could say it out loud.

He felt as if a huge stone had fallen from his heart.

**30.**

Grantaire was awoke by the cold wind. When he opened his eyes, he saw the window open wide and the cold air was getting in. He shook, wrapped himself in a blanket, and got up from bed. As he closed the window, he leaned his hot forehead against the cold glass and looked out. The sky was a little mauve, the sun seemed to come up at any moment. He straightened and frowned a little. Only when he looked at the sky did he realize that he woke up alone.

He turned to the bed. He was right. No one was in bed. He walked to the half of the mattress where Enjolras had been lying before and touched the sheet. It was cold. He had to get up at least an hour before him. His clothes he put on his chair last night were gone. Grantaire swallowed dry and said into the room, “Enjolras?”

No answer. 

Is Enjolras gone? Did he leave? Why? For what reason? Was it because of him? Did he leave a message somewhere? Send a message? Will he call? Grantaire started to panic. His heart pounded and he felt his hands shake. He needed a drink. He walked out of the bedroom and immediately headed to the kitchen. Before he could get there, he could feel the same coldness in his living room as he did in his bedroom. The whole room was tidy, the pillows at their places, the television turned on, but muted so much that it was hardly heard at all. The door to the balcony was open, and he saw Enjolras' scalp from behind the glass window. Grantaire immediately went to the balcony door and remained in their frame.

Enjolras's eyes were closed, his head resting on the window glass, smiling slightly. He was wearing Grantaire's favorite green shirt and black tracksuit. He breathed slowly, grumbling happily at times. There was a mug in his hand that still have a smoke above it. He didn't have to be too close to be sure he drank hot coffee. “Are you absorbing the sun's rays, Apollo?”

Enjolras twitched and looked at Grantaire. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” Grantaire just shook his head and walked into the balcony. He leaned against the cool railing and adjusted the blanket around his body. Only now he realize he was still naked. “I couldn't sleep, I still think of the case,” he admitted, and sipped from his cup. “I can't just lie in bed and do nothing. I was afraid I would wake you. So I went for a coffee and when I saw the condition of the living room, I thought I would at least be useful for something when I missed the whole party.”

“You didn't have to,” Grantaira said, his eyes turning to the horizon, which turned pink.

“I wanted. At least somehow atone for not coming to your party.”

Grantaire didn't respond. Instead, he said what had weighed on him for a few minutes: “You stayed.”

“Of course.”

“You didn't leave.”

“No,” Enjolras said, finally looking at Grantaire carefully. He was still staring at the sky. “Why would I?”

“Maybe came to your senses or something,” Grantaire said to himself, clearing his throat. “What are we, Apollo? What happened yesterday. You know... Are we friends? Or, are we going to do that all the time, but we'll still be friends that just help each other sometimes? Like, Friends with benefits or other shits like that? Or do you want us to be lovers? Or, you want to try… try… like, go out. Together. Be pair. Couple. Together?"

“With so many questions, I feel we've been married for twenty years.” They both laughed. Enjolras suddenly felt a little lighter, and Grantaire already could breathe better again. Enjolras saw Grantaire is deeply in thought. He placed the mug on the windowsill and walked over to the elder. He gripped the railing with his hands so that he was practically in his arms. Grantaire took a deep breath and looked into Enjolras's eyes. “You regret it? What we did this morning.”

“Never,” Grantaire said. “And you?” Enjolras just shook his head. “Good.”

“We can solve everything latter,” Enjolras said gently, stroking Grantaire's cheek. He kissed him gently, then pulled away from him. He looked at his right wrist, where his gold watch glittered. He watched them for a few seconds, then looked back at Grantaire and kissed his nose. “Happy birthday, Grantaire.” Grantaire waited for nothing, buried his fingers in his hair and kissed him passionately.

They both knew they wouldn't miss a long chat. But now they didn't want to think of anything but the other's mouth.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The story was based on another, explicit Enjolras/Grantaire short story where I didn't like the fact that Enjolras behaved very coldly, so I tried to rewrite it into a form that was bearable for me. And I wrote a completely new story. The explicit fanfic, which is in the spirit of theme "friends with benefits", is still on the waiting list and when I solve the dilemma with Enjolras behavior, I will publish the fanfic here. Stay tunned!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com)


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